


The Stone in the Sword

by ReganX



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-10
Updated: 2013-09-09
Packaged: 2017-12-26 04:15:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 122,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/961446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReganX/pseuds/ReganX
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur was born of magic… not of Uther. When an unexpected revelation rocks Camelot, Arthur and Morgana must come to terms with long-hidden secrets and their new roles in life, while Merlin has to accept that the destiny he believed he shared with Arthur will never come to pass. To others, however, the revelation is a beacon of hope for the Camelot that can be built, once Uther's reign is at an end and his true heir sits on the throne. After decades of persecution, they don't intend to wait any longer for their deliverance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This story is based on a prompt from the Merlin kink meme and the timeline has required significant battering to facilitate the requirements, namely a good Morgana coexisting with the Round Table knights so there are some changes to the pre-story events compared to canon. Firstly, Arthur was not named Crown Prince in _Excalibur_. Secondly, Morgana had somebody to talk to about her magic from _The Nightmare Begins _onwards. Thirdly, the events of the episode _Gwaine_ took place in Season Two rather than Season Three. Finally, Arthur’s quest for the trident of the Fisher King takes place shortly before the beginning of this story, just prior to _The Fires of Idirsholas___.
> 
> For the purposes of this story, I’m taking a little artistic licence and having Morgause as the daughter of Vivienne and Gorlois.
> 
> This is my first _Merlin_ fanfic, and my first Big Bang. It’s been a fun, exciting, challenging, and often frustrating experience and I hope that readers enjoy the result.
> 
> I’d like to dedicate this story to **_AngelQueen_** for her invaluable help and support in plotting this story, and in betaing it at very short notice. I couldn’t have done it without her.
> 
> I’d also like to thank **_aqualillium_** for her amazing artwork and her support in this process.
> 
>  

Merlin could barely remember what it was like to have a moment of leisure time.

Since Uther decided that a position as his son’s manservant was a suitable reward for saving the life of said son, he had been at Arthur’s beck and call, sometimes only able to manage to complete his lengthy list of chores with the illicit use of magic. In addition, he assisted Gaius with his duties as court physician, with tasks ranging from gathering medicinal plants to scrubbing out the leech tank, working to lighten the load of the kinsman who was kind enough to take him in when his mother feared that there was nothing left for him in Ealdor, and who risked his life by harbouring a warlock in the heart of Camelot. He might have been better able to finish his chores without magic, as his predecessors had, if he did not also have to accompany Arthur on hunts and patrols. He was certain that, strictly speaking, it was not part of his duties as Arthur’s manservant but, considering how often trouble found Arthur, he would have a difficult time fulfilling his destiny as protector to the Once and Future King if he didn’t tag along to save his neck when needed.

He sometimes wondered how Arthur would react when the day came for the servant he so often derided as useless to tell him the truth about his magic and about their destiny, and about the many, many, many times he had had to save the greatest warrior in Camelot from certain death at the hands of magical and non-magical foes alike. Knowing Arthur, he was bound to have a hard time believing it at first, and wouldn’t want to believe it but Merlin eagerly awaited the day when he would no longer have to hide the truth about who he was and all he did for Camelot.

Once it was known how often he used his magic to save the kingdom and its Prince, nobody could doubt that, in the right hands, magic could be a powerful force for good.

Maybe Arthur would think that it was funny that the most powerful sorcerer to ever live spent years cleaning his chambers, preparing his food, doing his laundry, polishing his armour, mucking out his stables, being attacked during sparring practice and catering to his every whim. Maybe it would help convince him that magic could be a force for good, and that those who wielded it were not doomed to be evil. What evil warlock could have tolerated Arthur’s incessant demands and frequent insults for a week without giving in to the temptation to turn him into a toad?

As busy as he usually was, however, the past week made his regular routine seem almost restful.

With a ceremony and feast to prepare for, and a castle full of noble guests to accommodate and care for, most of the palace servants, who already had plenty of chores with which to fill their days, found themselves burdened with extra duties for the occasion.

Master Varric, the Steward of the Royal Household, was determined that every inch of the castle should be spotless, every noble guest comfortably housed and well-attended, and that every feast would be a credit to the hospitality Camelot had to offer. The ceremony itself should be impressive, as befitted the investiture of the Crown Prince of Camelot, and everybody who was privileged to attend it should be awed by the splendour and remember the day for the rest of their lives. The King was in full agreement with his Steward that this should be an occasion to remember, sharing his determination that none of their guests, no matter how high their rank or how particular they were, should have the slightest cause for complaint about the hospitality of Camelot. To that end, Master Varric had permission to draft as many of the palace servants as he needed to carry out the work necessary to meet his exacting standards.

Struggling under the weight of a trunk that he was certain must have contained every garment in Lady Olwen’s possession, he followed the lady and her husband, Sir Lucan, as they were led from the courtyard, where liveried stable hands were waiting to take their horses as soon as they dismounted, to the east wing by Master Varric. Sir Lucan’s manservant followed Merlin, bearing a similarly heavy burden, and Lady Olwen’s maid walked by his side, carrying her mistress’ fur-lined cloak and a case of her jewellery. Both servants looked almost as tired as Merlin felt and he could imagine that the journey from Sir Lucan’s estate to the citadel had not been an easy one.

Merlin’s arms, back and legs ached and, had he not been within earshot of others, who would be quick to report him, he would have been sorely tempted to whisper a spell to lighten his heavy load. Gaius would disapprove, of course, but in consideration of his age and his position as court physician, he was one of the very few members of the royal household who was not pressed into extra duties. If he was, he wouldn’t be so quick to disapprove of anything that could help.

The guest chamber to which Master Varric led them was one that had not been used since Merlin came to Camelot two years ago, if not longer. He knew that, over the past few days, the deserted chamber would have been dusted and scrubbed from floor to ceiling, with the bed linens, coverings and hangings laundered, if not replaced, and the windows left open to banish the stale smell of a room left unoccupied for too long. Before he consented to lodge noble guests in any of the chambers, Master Varric would have examined every inch of it with a critical eye, and he would not hesitate to order that the preparations be redone if he was in any way dissatisfied with the condition of a room. Merlin would have bet a week’s wages that the vase of flowers on the table was Guinevere’s doing. Like him, she was pressed into service preparing for the guests and, over the past week, he had often seen her hard at work cleaning rooms and ferrying linens.

Master Varric bowed deeply as he ushered Sir Lucan and Lady Olwen into their chambers, telling them that he hoped that they would find them satisfactory, asking if there was anything else they required and assuring them that the King’s household was at their disposal. To Merlin’s relief, they had no complaints about their quarters and made no further requests so, once he had set Lady Olwen’s trunk down for her maid to unpack, Master Varric dismissed him.

Any hope he might have had that he would be able to snatch half an hour to take his midday meal before he was called on to attend to the next new arrival was dashed when he glanced out the window to see Arthur and his knights returning. Their rank did not exempt them from extra duties to prepare for the guests but to Arthur, daily hunts to ensure that the kitchens were well-stocked with fresh meat, now that there would be so many extra mouths to feed, were a pleasure rather than a chore, and the same was true of the knights who joined him on these expeditions. They would probably be sorry when the guests departed and they no longer had an excuse to ride into the woods every day to kill as many animals as they could find.

Merlin hastened down to the courtyard to take Arthur’s horse as soon as he dismounted, not wanting to give Arthur an excuse to complain if he had to send for him.

Four scullions joined him, having made their way from the kitchens to the courtyard as soon as they got word that Arthur and his company had been sighted returning to the city. They stood ready to take the slain deer, boars and rabbits from Arthur and the knights, so that they could bear them back to the kitchen to be skinned, dressed and roasted for the evening’s feast.

A glance at the days’ haul confirmed that nobody in the castle would go hungry tonight.

“You can leave the horses to the stable hands today, Merlin,” Arthur told him, passing the reins into his hands. “I’ll need you to get my robes ready for the ceremony.”

“Yes, sire.”

It would have been a welcome reprieve from a usually hated chore if Merlin wasn’t certain that Arthur’s ceremonial finery was likely to be in dire need of laundering and pressing before it was fit to be worn in public. No feast he had ever attended in his capacity as Arthur’s manservant had actually ended in a food fight, and Arthur was a tidy eater, as far as he could see, so he was at a loss to understand how he managed to end up with his clothes in such a mess every time there was a feast. He would probably be lucky if there were no tears; Gwen would mend them for him if he asked but she was busy too and he didn’t want to add to her tasks if it could be helped. This evening, attention would be focused on Arthur and Merlin knew that the sharp eyes of the courtiers would be quick to spot any flaws in his appearance and to comment disapprovingly. No matter how much of a prat Arthur could be, he wouldn’t want him to look bad on this day of all days.

“And you’ll need to get your ceremonial robes ready too,” Arthur added, eyes dancing with mirth.

“Yes, sire,” Merlin repeated, frowning unhappily at the memory of the last time he was required to wear the official robes of the servants of Camelot, which had been bad enough before Arthur decided that his manservant should wear an even more elaborate costume than the other servants, the better to serve as an object of ridicule. Even the solemn and dignified Master Varric could not have failed to look like a fool in that feathered hat, and the long cape was impractical at best, hindering his movement and making him feel certain that he was going to drop something.

With his luck, he would probably end up spilling wine in Uther’s lap tonight.

That was bound to earn him a spell in the stocks, if not worse.

As Arthur made his way into the castle to report to his father, accompanied by Sir Leon, four of his companions stayed behind, opting to lead their mounts to the stables themselves rather than leaving Merlin to corral all six horses. He gave them a grateful smile, pleased but unsurprised that none of them had allowed their elevation go so far to their heads that they viewed a servant as existing only to cater to their whims. With the exception of Sir Leon, most of the nobly-born knights were usually very quick to land the nearest servant with any chores, never thinking that they were already busy enough without also having to dance attendance on them.

“I hope the King doesn’t stint on the mead and ale for the feast tonight,” Gwaine remarked, unsaddling his horse before handing it off to a waiting stable hand to be fed, watered and brushed. “I haven’t been to the tavern in days, and I’ll need a drink after sitting through a long ceremony and all of the boring speeches - a proper drink, not those fancy wines the nobles are so fond of.”

“I’m sure that you’ll survive,” Percival said, giving his friend a good-natured shove. “And I’m sure that a Knight of Camelot isn’t supposed to get drunk at a feast. We need to set an example.”

“And I will,” Gwaine pledged with mock solemnity. “Nobody will ever have seen a man do a better job of holding his ale.”

Merlin, Percival and Elyan chuckled at that, but Lancelot’s expression was sombre.

Merlin could guess why.

Lancelot had dreamed of becoming a Knight of Camelot since he was a boy, after he saw his village attacked by raiders. He had even earned a knighthood more than a year ago but, while Uther was pleased to admit the fifth son of Lord Eldred of Northumbria to the ranks of the Knights of Camelot, he was furious to learn that his newest knight was a commoner, declaring him unworthy of the honour and stripping him of his knighthood. The only reason why Lancelot had escaped without further punishment was that even Uther would not imprison the man who saved his kingdom from a Griffin. Now that he had been a granted a knighthood again, this time by a King who was truly aware of his background, Lancelot was determined to prove he was worthy of the honour. There was no knight in Camelot who strove as hard to live up to the tenets of the Knight’s Code or who was more conscious of the need to show that he was an asset to the kingdom’s forces.

“Besides,” Gwaine continued, “it’s not as though we’re _nobles_. I’m sure some of the stiff-necked lords and ladies are convinced that we could never behave ourselves. They must be dying to see one of the ‘commoner knights’ show himself up in public so they can mutter about what the King was thinking when he agreed to knight us. Who am I to deny them the satisfaction?”

This time, Lancelot’s was not the only solemn expression. Elyan’s brow creased in a frown and his fist tightened around his horse’s reins for a moment before he was able to force himself to loosen his grasp and allow his horse to be led to a stall, to be attended to after the long day’s exertions.

Elyan was the only one of the men knighted by the King as a result of the combined arguments of his son and pleas of his ward who was bothered by the fact that, as a concession to the First Code of Camelot to keep the nobility from complaining too much about the King’s decision to break with tradition and knight commoners, they were granted the title, duties and privileges of a Knight of Camelot without being raised to the nobility. Lancelot did not care about his station, now that his dream of being a knight had been realised, nor did Percival, who had never thought to expect or want to be made a Knight of Camelot but who was proud to accept the position when it was offered to him. Gwaine, the only one of the four with noble blood in his veins, insisted that he would never have accepted a knighthood if it meant that he would have to be classed as a noble, and he embraced the term ‘commoner knight’ as a compliment, rather than the insult that it was intended to be. Elyan, however, was the only one of them with kin in Camelot.

“Will Gwen be serving at the feast?” Elyan asked Merlin, scowling when he nodded confirmation. “So I’m good enough to be the King’s guest but my sister isn’t?”

Nobody said anything, knowing that there was nothing they could say that would make Elyan less indignant about the fact that, despite his elevation, his sister was not accorded the status of a lady of the court, even out of courtesy. No matter how often Guinevere insisted that she was not ashamed to be a servant, and no matter how often she assured him that she was proud of him and happy to see him honoured for all he had done for Camelot, or how often she warned him not to make trouble for her sake and risk losing all he had gained, Elyan was still unhappy to see her working a servant while he was accorded the respect due to him as a knight.

“It will be different when Arthur is King,” Merlin offered, when the silence stretched on so long that it became uncomfortable. He was certain that Arthur would not content himself with the half-measures that Uther had consented to. He would see to it that the four men who helped him save the kingdom from Morgause and the Knights of Medhir were accorded their full due as knights.

None of them spoke about it, even amongst themselves, for fear that they would be overheard and their words carried to the King’s ears but they would have had to be blind not to see that Arthur was attracted to Guinevere, and fools not to be aware of the King’s reaction if he ever learned that, given the choice, his son would marry a commoner. Like Elyan, Arthur was dismayed that her brother’s elevation was not enough to allow her to be raised to the status of a lady, allowing them to converse openly. They so rarely had an opportunity to speak privately and, in public, they were obliged to observe the appropriate distance and formality between prince and servant.

Thanks to the love spell cast on Arthur a few months ago, Merlin knew that Guinevere was his true love. Had Arthur’s feelings not been so strong, he would still be ensnared by Trickler’s spell, still believing himself to be in love with Lady Vivian... if not dead at the hand of her enraged father.

He did not doubt that Arthur would marry Guinevere as soon as he was free to do so.

As a Prince, he could not marry without his father’s approval and Uther would never agree to allow his only son to marry a servant girl. He would probably be convinced that he was enchanted if he ever hinted that this was something he wanted! Arthur would be fortunate if his father did not try to push him into a match with a princess for the sake of an alliance, claiming that it was his duty to Camelot to marry as he was bid, appealing to his love of the kingdom and its people to make him feel honour-bound to sacrifice his happiness for the sake of Camelot. Merlin was determined that, when the time came, he would be there to support Arthur and to encourage him to follow his heart, rather than allowing him to settle for an arranged marriage that could only lead to his unhappiness, unhappiness that would surely keep him from being as great a King as he was born to be.

Once Arthur was King, he would no longer be bound by his father’s belief that only a lady of royal or noble blood could be worthy of being his son’s wife and Queen.

When the day came for Guinevere to take her place as Queen of Camelot, everybody would be able to see how mistaken Uther was in his belief that a commoner was unworthy of a high position. Any courtier who disapproved of Arthur’s choice of bride would not be able to help respecting Gwen, once they had a chance to know her as a person rather than dismissing her as a mere servant, fit only to attend to those who considered themselves her betters by virtue of their noble birth. She would prove to them that there was nobody who would be a fairer, kinder or more compassionate Queen and nobody better able to help Arthur become the great King he was meant to be.

There were times when Merlin thought that Guinevere’s coronation would be an even happier and prouder day for him than Arthur’s coronation would be.

What better beginning could Albion have than the marriage of a King and commoner for love?

Together, Arthur and Gwen would rule a kingdom that Merlin would be proud to be a subject of.

* * *

It was all Uther could do to keep a pleasant smile on his face as he made his way through the corridors of his castle to the vaults. The journey was no problem for him, especially as he was so proud of its purpose, but the company left a great deal to be desired.

“This much be such a proud day for you, my lord,” Lord Agravaine de Bois remarked, seemingly unaware of the fact that his presence was far from welcome. His smile was a thin one that did not reach his eyes. In all the years he had known the man, Uther couldn’t remember seeing a genuine smile of joy on his face. “It is difficult to believe that young Arthur is a man now. How time flies! It seems such a short time ago that he was just a babe in arms, and he was nothing but a boy the last time I saw him. It must be a good three or four years since I last visited your city.”

“Five,” Uther corrected him brusquely.

Given the choice, he would happily have gone another five years or more without having Agravaine under his roof. He could not force himself to voice any regrets about Agravaine’s affairs keeping him away from court for so long, much less express any hope that his next visit would be any sooner. The last thing he wanted was to encourage him to stay on after the ceremony and celebrations were over, as it could be weeks or months before he finally left if he was given any kind of invitation to remain. He could manage only a curt nod by way of response.

“I am sure that my sister would be very proud of him, if she could see him now,” Agravaine continued. “I see so much of her in Arthur. He’s the image of Ygraine.”

Uther gritted his teeth, unwilling to allow the other man to see his distress at the mention of Ygraine, who should have been here today to see their son named Crown Prince and to know what a fine King he would be one day. All she ever wanted was to give him a son, and she was so proud and so happy when she told him that she was finally with child, thinking it a miracle after their years of childlessness and fear for the succession, little realising that her condition was the result of a spell, or that their son’s life would be bought at the cost of his mother’s.

Even if she had known, he was certain that she would have loved Arthur no less.

From the moment she knew that she carried a child, there was not a doubt in her mind that he - she told him that she knew in her heart that their son grew within her - would be extraordinary and that Camelot would thrive under his rule. She had so many plans for what she wanted them to teach him about what it meant to be a King, one who would grow up loving Camelot and its people, plans she had not lived to carry out. He could only hope that she would be pleased with his efforts to shape Arthur into a great King, a King who would have made Ygraine proud.

He had no idea whether or not Agravaine knew the true circumstances of Arthur’s birth.

Tristan knew, and had sought to kill him after Ygraine’s death, though he must have known that Uther would never willingly have harmed a hair on her head. When Tristan’s spirit was conjured from the grave, he sought to kill the child for whom his sister had given her life, though anybody who knew Ygraine would have known that she would never have wished to see Arthur harmed.

Regardless of the means by which the boy was given life, he was her son and she loved him more than her own life.

Unlike his more hot-tempered brother, Agravaine was a man who kept his own counsel, and he had never given Uther any indication that his brother told him how their sister died or that he blamed him for it. On the rare occasions when he visited the court, there was never anything in his behaviour that would betray that he harboured a grudge against his brother-in-law or his nephew, towards whom he always behaved cordially and respectfully. Unlike Tristan, Agravaine would never challenge Uther directly if he believed him to bear responsibility for his sister’s death, not when he knew that he had no chance of winning a duel against a more skilled opponent. He was not a man who would lay his life on the line for the sake of family honour, or for anything else. He would remain silent until he saw an advantage to speaking out and, once he saw an advantage, he would be merciless in exploiting it, willing to turn on those who trusted him to serve his own ends.

Given the choice, Uther would have preferred to keep Agravaine as far away from Arthur as he could. He did his utmost to keep them apart when Arthur was still a child, never able to dismiss the fear that Agravaine might be taking advantage of a boy’s affection for his uncle to whisper stories to Arthur about how Ygraine had really died, in the hope of turning him against his father or of making him feel shame for having been brought to life by unnatural forces. However, he could not exclude his son’s uncle from this ceremony, not when it would be attended by virtually every noble in Camelot, along with envoys from rulers of most of the other kingdoms, who were keen to show their friendship to the Pendragons. Arthur would be the first to question him if he failed to issue an invitation to his only living maternal kin, and the slight would be noted by every courtier.

When he reached the vault, he did not invite Agravaine to accompany him but, while the other man had the sense not to push his way past the guards – who would have stopped him had he dared, and by force if necessary, regardless of his status – he did not take the hint and make himself scarce while Uther retrieved the object he sought, choosing to wait outside for him.

Although he knew that Agravaine would not leave, no matter how long he was left to wait, Uther took his time as he made his way through the vaults where the treasures of Camelot were stored, well-guarded and under lock and key, kept as safe as possible from anybody who might seek to infiltrate the citadel in the hope of absconding with the collection of treasures that he had claimed along with the castle when he took his place as King, a collection he added to over the years.

Most of the objects in the vault were harmless, beautiful treasures that had been accumulated by generations of kings and powerful lords, many of them trophies of war. In a time of great need, these treasures might be sold to help raise an army to defend the kingdom or to feed the hungry. On occasion, they would be displayed to impress guests with visible proof of the wealth and power of Camelot, lest they make the mistake of thinking the kingdom weak. Other objects, most of them far from impressive looking, were priceless for all of the wrong reasons. During the Great Purge, he went to great lengths to ensure that any magical artefact he learned of was taken from those who might think to use it against him, and kept in a place where they could do no damage.

To this collection, seven swords had recently been added, taken from the bodies of the Knights of Medhir after the sorceress whose magic brought them to life was defeated and fled Camelot.

At the heart of the vaults, behind a heavy gate to which only he had a key, lay the object he sought, relic of a time when his ancestors ruled Camelot, before the Crown was lost to their line. It lay on an altar of polished marble, wrapped in a cloth of heavy crimson silk, faded with age.

Uther opened the gate and approached the altar, unwrapping the silk covering to reveal a sword.

If a thief somehow managed to make his way into the vault, he would undoubtedly deem this sword not to be worth the time and effort of stealing it, unless he knew of its history. Unlike the treasures that surrounded it, it was not crafted from gleaming gold and silver or studded with precious jewels, nor was it recognisable as one of the magical artefacts taken during the Purge. If the sword had been an impressive weapon in its day, it did not seem to compare with the weapons commissioned for the knights and soldiers of Camelot today. It was slate grey in colour, its edges dulled by use and time, and its only adornment, aside from the engraving of the name of the King who had wielded it on the centre of the blade, was the smooth black stone imbedded in the hilt.

King Bruta, the first King of Camelot, wielded this sword when he ended the cycle of bloodshed and war that had torn Albion apart, leading to the establishment of the Five Kingdoms.

No other man had played as great a part in shaping the land they lived in than King Bruta had.

Its history alone was enough reason for Uther to value it but the Sword of King Bruta had also helped him claim the throne, lost to his family for too many generations, after he and his supporters defeated those who tried to usurp his rights. Even those who had doubted his right to claim the title of King of Camelot no longer questioned it once the Sword proved to them that he was a direct descendant of King Bruta, and rightful heir to the kingdom he built.

Uther reached out to caress the hilt of the Sword, marvelling, as he always did, at the way the dull metal of the blade gleamed as brightly as polished silver in the light of the noon sun in response to his touch, while the black stone in the hilt transformed into a crystal, glowing with a mesmerizing light. Delicate veins of gold and silver threaded their way through the blue-green glow of the crystal, with tiny scarlet flames dancing in its heart. It was said that the stone in the Sword’s hilt looked different for every King who wielded it but he had never had the opportunity to prove this story true or false, as he had never known any other man who was capable of wielding it.

The Sword was an object of magic but, unlike so many of the others locked away in the vault, it was a tool for good, one that could not be wielded by his enemies.

But for the Sword, he might not be King.

Wrapping the Sword securely in its silk cloth, ensuring that it was completely covered, he carried it away from its place in the vault, locking the gate behind him.

As he had expected, Agravaine was waiting for him when he emerged from the vault, and fell into step with him as he walked through the corridors. He spoke as they walked, undeterred by Uther’s lack of response. Uther kept his gaze fixed ahead as he walked, doing his best to ignore the other man’s words – though he knew that it was too much to hope for that Agravaine would take the hint and leave him alone – until he registered a change in his tone from casually conversational to appreciative in a manner that Uther did not like, especially as he could guess the reason for it.

“…grown into such a beautiful young woman.”

Even before he followed Agravaine’s gaze, Uther knew what had caught his attention.

Morgana had rounded the corridor, accompanied by two ladies with whom she was conversing, and Agravaine’s attention was focused entirely on her, reminding Uther of another reason why he was so glad that he had not had to put up with Agravaine’s presence for the past five years.

On one of his rare visits to Camelot a year or so after Uther took Morgana as his ward, Agravaine paid no attention to her, focusing his attention on cultivating Arthur’s good will with gifts and praise so that he could be certain that his future King would think fondly of him, and deeming an orphaned little girl beneath his notice.

On his last visit, however, his avid gaze tracked Morgana whenever she was in the same room, his barely concealed interesting forcing Uther to see that, though she was not yet sixteen, the little girl who sparred with Arthur at every opportunity and who pouted whenever she was told that it was not seemly for ladies to fight was rapidly blossoming into a young woman. Beauty, nobility and wealth were an irresistible combination and Agravaine would not be the last to take an interest in Morgana but Uther could feel his skin crawl when he saw how he looked at her. The unconcealed admiration in Agravaine’s eyes whenever his gaze was directed at Morgana and his remarks about how it would soon be time for him to find her a husband set Uther’s teeth on edge, and it was all he could do to keep his temper under sufficient restraint that he did not hurl the man from the citadel with a command never again to darken his door, if he did not wish to be lodged in the dungeons. Thankfully, his insistence that his ward was still little more than a child, and far too young to worry about marriage was pointed enough to ensure that Agravaine left without asking for her hand.

Now that she was twenty, he could no longer cite her youth as an excuse not to entertain offers for her hand and he didn’t want her around Agravaine any more than could be helped while the man was their guest. Thankfully, he could rely on Master Varric to see to it that Morgana was not seated close enough to Agravaine for him to be able to engage her in conversation.

The older of the ladies accompanying Morgana was the first to notice the presence of the King and, tucking her arm through Morgana’s, she all but dragged her over to Uther. The third member of their little group, a young woman around the same age as Morgana, trailed behind them, her wide-eyed gaze betraying her awe at being in the presence of the King of Camelot.

“My lord,” the older lady greeted him, curtseying deeply. She eyed the wrapped bundle tucked under his arm with undisguised curiousity but decided against remarking on it.

Uther inclined his head politely by way of response. He did not recognise the woman, who looked to be forty or a little older, and who was decked out in a heavy velvet gown lavishly trimmed with fur, despite the heat of the summer day. The thick gold necklace she wore looked so heavy that it was a marvel that it didn’t choke her. Wide gold bands encircled her wrists, and she wore rings on almost every finger. Her elaborately coiffed hair was secured by a gold net, dotted with pearls. He wondered if she had a husband wealthy and indulgent enough to allow her the funds to purchase any finery she took a fancy to, or if she was one of the ladies who wore every item of jewellery she possessed when she came to court, so that her family appeared more prosperous than they were.

“I cannot tell you how great an honour it is to be present for such a momentous occasion,” the lady gushed. “It was so kind and gracious of you to invite my family. Prince Arthur has grown into such a fine man, a credit to you, my lord, and to the kingdom. My son tells me that he is the greatest warrior he has ever known, and that it is a privilege to fight by his side. He will be a fine King one day... though not for many, many years, of course,” she added hastily, in case he might take offence at the idea that the end of his reign, and the beginning of his son’s might be eagerly anticipated. “If the Prince takes after his father, my lord, Camelot will be blessed.”

“You are very kind,” he glanced towards Morgana, who silently mouthed the name, giving him a small, understanding smile, “Lady Bronwyn.”

Lady Bronwyn visibly preened, convinced that she must have made an impression on her last visit, whenever that might have been. “I am flattered that you remember me, my lord. It is some years now since I last visited your court. I had quite forgotten my way around! Lady Morgana was kind enough to offer us her assistance, or we would surely be lost. Ursula, come here, child... allow me to present my daughter, Ursula, to you, my lord,” she added, realising that he would not know of whom she spoke. She motioned the girl forward with an impatient hand. Lady Ursula kept her gaze lowered as she took a few steps forward and curtsied but she did not speak - not that she had the chance to, as her mother was quick to continue. “Ursula has not had the honour and pleasure of visiting court before today. The poor child knows little of life away from the countryside.”

“Then I hope that her visit will be a pleasant one,” Uther gave the girl a slight smile that brought a tinge of pink to her cheeks.

When Ygraine was alive, she always had at least several girls of noble blood entrusted to her charge by parents who were anxious to see their daughters learn courtly manners and, under the chaperonage of the Queen, meet young knights and lords who would be suitable husbands for them. The young ladies attended her in court and trailed after her like ducklings as she went about her duties as Queen, watching her avidly so that they might learn, by example, what would be expected of them when they married and became chatelaines of their husbands’ castles. Ygraine was endlessly patient with them and unfailingly kind, securing the loyalty and affection of every girl sent to join her household. He could remember that, when Ygraine was pregnant with Arthur, the girls in her charge had dedicated themselves to sewing and embroidering tiny garments for the coming child, eagerly anticipating the day when they would have a baby to fuss over.

Ygraine was not yet cold in the ground when the girls left court, summoned home by families unwilling to leave them once there was no longer a Queen in Camelot.

For all he knew, Lady Bronwyn was once one of the noble girls in Ygraine’s charge.

She must be about the right age, as strange and unsettling as it was for him to think that, had Ygraine lived, she would be in her middle years by now, of an age when most women anticipated becoming grandmothers, rather than the lovely young woman who had captured his heart, the woman he always pictured when he could bear the pain of thinking of her.

He didn’t doubt that, if he had been able to stomach the idea of remarrying after Ygraine’s death - a _true_ marriage, not a farce born of a troll’s malign enchantment, a farce he had ordered never to be spoken of again, on pain of immediate banishment from his court - and Camelot had a Queen, Lady Bronwyn would seek to send her daughter to live at court under the Queen’s supervision.

As soon as he found a suitable wife for Arthur, she would almost certainly be among the first to seek a position for her daughter in the household of the future Queen, regardless of whether or not the girl wished to leave her country home to live at court. Like virtually every member of the nobility, she would be eager to seize any possible opportunity to curry favour with those who could further the interests of her and her family, and she would want her daughter to enjoy every advantage that service in the household of Arthur’s future Queen could confer on her.

He couldn’t imagine that Morgana would like it when they had young noblewomen clamouring to come to live at Camelot.

When she was younger, he used to worry that she would be lonely without the company of other girls of noble birth, with whom she could enjoy a friendship of equals instead of only having her maid for company. He even considered the idea of inviting a couple of noble girls to come to live in the castle as her companions. However, far from feeling deprived by the lack of suitable female companions, Morgana was quite happy to join Arthur and his friends in their combat training and their games, determined to prove that she was well able to keep up with the boys and, on the rare occasions when they had girls her age visiting the court, she had little time for them.

He was certain that, for Morgana, the worst part about growing old enough to take her place as the First Lady of Camelot was not that it was no longer seemly for her to take part in combat training - he was well aware of the fact that she continued to practice with a sword in secret, whenever she had the chance but didn’t have the heart to take steps to keep her from training, especially when she might have to defend herself one day - but that she was expected to act as hostess, in the absence of a Queen. They only occasionally had ladies visiting the court but, when they did, it invariably fell to Morgana to entertain them during their stay, a duty she had never relished.

He could imagine that the past days were a trial for her, with so many ladies visiting, especially if there were others like Lady Bronwyn.

That lady was still talking, this time about the most recent attack on Camelot, and her words, though very complimentary of Arthur, sent an icy chill through his body, forcing memories that he knew would live the rest of his life as nightmares to the forefront of his mind.

_His head ached, his muscles were stiff and sore, and when he tried to move, he found that his legs were tangled in a thick, roughly-woven blanket that encased the lower half of his body._

_The last thing he could remember was that he was sitting at the table in his quarters, working his way through the day’s dispatches, yet he woke up on the stone floor of the throne room, bundled in a blanket that would never have been deemed fit for the use of the King. It took several moments for him to recognise where he was and to register the distant sounds of fighting, and a moment more before he was be able to move any part of his body._

_When he was finally able to summon the strength to lift himself into a sitting position, kicking feebly to free himself of the blanket, he was horrified by the sight before him._

_Morgause stood before him, her back to him, looking down at somebody in front of her. He heard the faint chink of a sword against her armour, and muffled words he could not make out, and then he saw her shoulders slump, as though in defeat. The spell she incanted swept her away in a whirl of light and smoke, and without Morgause standing in his way, he could see what she must have seen before she spirited herself away._

_Morgana lay in Merlin’s arms, ghost-pale and completely unmoving._

_“Morgana!” He tried to shout her name but only a hoarse whisper escaped his lips. When he tried to hasten to her side, his weakened muscles and the tangled blanket combined to leave him sprawled on the floor, helpless to do anything but watch as Arthur’s manservant and another man he recognised… the commoner who tried to sneak into the ranks of the Knights of Camelot… what was his name?… hovered over her, trying to force clear liquid from a glass vial into her._

_The servant was close to tears, cradling Morgana’s head in his lap and watching in despair as most of the liquid trickled out of her still mouth, running down her chin and neck and dampening the neckline of her gown. His words were coming in a jumble and Uther could make out only brief snatches of what he was saying._

_“…only way… wake up… didn’t want to… nothing else…”_

_He passed an eternity as he watched the two men working feverishly to revive his ward… his daughter…wanting desperately to be able to help them, to be able to hold her as she passed if there was nothing he could do to help, but he couldn’t force his limbs to obey him, couldn’t come close enough to Morgana to touch her. He could only lie there, helpless, watching what might be the final moments of his daughter’s life... if she wasn't already dead, and the two men attempting to do the impossible and restore her to life when the world of the dead had laid claim to her._

_Another eternity passed before Morgana choked on the liquid being poured down her throat, droplets flying from her lips as she spluttered._

_When she opened her eyes and looked right at him, he felt no shame over the tears of relief and joy that ran down his cheeks in rivulets._

It wasn’t until later that he learned what had led to Morgana almost dying before his eyes.

His first priority was to have Gaius examine Morgana to ensure that she had suffered no ill effects from whatever had happened to leave her in that state but, once the physician reassured him that she was as well as could be expected, he looked to Merlin for an explanation.

He was sickened by what he heard.

He was no stranger to the evil of magic, having experienced the harm it could do at first hand, as the victim of one he had thought of as a friend and trusted to give him the heir he needed, but who tore his beloved from him for no other reason than that she could, but it seemed that he could still be shocked and repulsed by the cruel, repulsive things that sorcerers were capable of.

The idea that Morgause could have crept into his castle in the dead of the night, infecting Morgana with her dark magic in order to turn her into a weapon against Camelot, appalled him. He was doubly grateful that he had shielded Morgana from the knowledge that she had a half-sister; she would be heartbroken to learn that a relative of hers could be so evil and so cruel as to force her to be the unwitting instrument of doom for the city that was her home, and the people in it. Even if Morgause intended to spare Morgana’s life, caring enough for the sister she had never known not to want her die with everybody else in Camelot, she would have left her to live with the terrible burden of knowing that she had been used to bring about the destruction of all she held dear.

If Lancelot had not heard tales of such vile enchantments, and known how to end them…

If Gaius had not had a potent general antidote prepared, in case of need…

If Morgana had not been far braver than most people would give her credit for, willing to lay down her life in the defence of Camelot…

He couldn’t bear to think what would have become of his kingdom if Morgause had been allowed to triumph. At the very least, all of his work to protect his people from the evils of magic would be undone. Sorcerers would be free to use their powers to enslave law-abiding citizens, and the taint of magic would spread from Camelot until there was no place in Albion that was free of it.

It did not bear thinking about.

“Lord Agravaine,” Uther cut in, when Lady Bronwyn’s cloying compliments about Arthur’s heroism, and her speculation about the terrible things that could have happened if he had not been there to save the kingdom from the invaders who threatened it, became too much for him to bear. “Perhaps you would be so good as to escort Lady Bronwyn and Lady Ursula back to their quarters. I am certain that they will want time to prepare for the festivities.” If he was going to be rid of one irritant, he might as well rid himself of the second. He had no qualms about burdening Agravaine with a companion he was certain to dislike. “Stay a moment, Morgana.” He didn’t have the heart to leave her stuck with Lady Bronwyn when it lay in his power to give her a break from what he knew to be the most trying part of her duties, especially when she had performed them without complaint for days, and he certainly didn’t want her left alone with Agravaine, even for a moment, after the other ladies were delivered to their quarters. “There is a matter I would discuss with you.”

He had the spiteful satisfaction of seeing Agravaine’s calm facade drop for an instant, betraying his displeasure at the thought of enduring Lady Bronwyn’s company, even for a brief period of time.

That lady looked affronted at first, clearly taking offence at the barely veiled dismissal but, an instant later, she caught Uther’s eye, giving him a half-grateful, half-conspiratorial smile before moving to take Agravaine’s arm. After curtseying and making her polite farewells to Uther and Morgana, she all but marched him away, a resigned Lady Ursula trailing behind them.

“Lord Agravaine won’t thank you for that,” Morgana observed, as soon as the three guests were safely out of earshot. “Lady Bronwyn has had her eye out for a second husband since Sir Arran died. I think she meant to petition you to find somebody suitable for her. Now there’s nothing that will convince her that you don’t want to see them married. Agravaine won’t have a moment of peace as long as they’re both under the same roof.”

“Really?” Uther chuckled at the thought of Agravaine being chased by a noble widow determined to ensnare a new husband, particularly one who was under the impression that the King sought to act as a matchmaker on her behalf. _He_ might dislike the man but to Lady Bronwyn, it would be a fine match. He now knew exactly who would be seated next to Agravaine at every feast and entertainment over the coming days. At the very least, he would have no opportunity to sniff around Morgana if Lady Bronwyn monopolised his time. He would happily dance at their wedding if it meant that he would never have to worry about his brother-in-law courting his daughter. “Does she have any family at court?” If she cornered him again, talking his ear off about any kin she had, he wanted to know who she spoke of, so he could have some idea what to say in response.

“A son, Sir Marcus. He was knighted three years ago.”

He raised an eyebrow at this, not troubling to hide his surprise.

While he might not recognise many of the female members of Camelot’s nobility on sight, he was familiar with each of the knights serving in Camelot’s forces, having personally approved each of their appointments, and ceremonially conferred their knighthoods on them.

Sir Marcus, a quiet, earnest young man, who was a good, steady warrior but who did not distinguish himself, either in combat or as a courtier, was perhaps the last man he would have thought could be related to someone as pushy and talkative as Lady Bronwyn. He was a solemn young man, who preferred to observe than to be the centre of attention, and in all his years at Camelot, Uther exchanged few words with him. He could imagine that Sir Marcus must have rued the day that his father died, leaving him as head of the family but with a mother who seemed far more likely to take charge of her own affairs than to be guided by any man, least of all her son.

If Lady Ursula’s shyness around him was not the exception rather than the rule, it would appear that Lady Bronwyn’s confidence and talkativeness had been balanced out by her quiet offspring.

“I know,” Morgana remarked, knowing what he was thinking. “I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen them together. He loves her very much. I’ve never seen him as happy as he was when he came to greet her and Lady Ursula when they arrived. It’s a bond to be cherished.”

She sounded wistful as she spoke, her eyes clouding with grief at the thought of Gorlois.

Even after living half of her life without him, Uther knew that she felt his loss as keenly as she did the day when the news of his death was gently broken to her. Vivienne died before Morgana was old enough to take her first steps or speak her first words or to have any memory of her mother. Gorlois had had no close kin apart from a cousin Morgana barely knew – though the man had eagerly petitioned to take charge of her and her inheritance before Uther made it known that he intended to take her as his ward – so theirs was a family of two.

After Gorlois died, he tried to make her understand that she was not alone in the world, as she believed herself to be, but he could never truly convince her.

When he overheard the nurse he engaged to attend her scolding her for some childish misdeed or another, lecturing her about how fortunate she was to be taken in by the King instead of left alone in the world, as countless other orphans were, and telling her that it was her duty to be a pleasant and well-behaved guest to show herself properly grateful for the King’s generosity, the woman’s bags were packed and she was gone from the castle before the day was out. He turned a deaf ear to her pleas to be given a second chance, determined to send a message to everybody in the castle that he would not tolerate anybody treating Morgana like an unwelcome guest, a burden he shouldered only out of duty, rather than a welcome and honoured member of his family.

To the best of his knowledge, nobody had dared to say anything like that to her since then but he knew her well enough to know that, even if they had, she would not have told him of it.

Even at ten, she preferred to fight her own battles than to seek his help.

He tried to show her that she meant as much to him as Arthur did, coming as close to the truth as he dared by telling her that she was the daughter he never had, but it saddened him to see that she didn’t believe him, didn’t know how much she truly meant to him, accepting it as a matter of course that he cared far more for his son than he did for his ward.

There were so many times that he wanted nothing more than to take Morgana in his arms and tell her what she really was to him but fear always stilled his tongue; fear that, if it was known that Arthur had a sister, she would be used against him by enemies seeking to dethrone him, fear that he would never be able to allow her to marry a great lord or prince who would be worthy of her hand, for fear that he might use his power, wealth and influence to seize the throne of Camelot in her name… and fear that, if he told her, the news would devastate her.

Gorlois was a good man, a man who loved Morgana as his own, and who she had loved in return.

How could he, who chose not to claim her when Vivienne first sent word of her pregnancy, presume to usurp the title of ‘father’ from the man who raised his daughter?

When Gaius confided in him that Morgause, the woman who defeated Arthur in a duel so that she might demand that he walk into her trap, was Vivienne’s first daughter, the child he believed to have died at birth, and that that child had been raised and trained by the priestesses of the Old Religion, he knew that he could not allow Morgana to learn that she had a half-sister.

After so many years of feeling alone, he feared that she would fall prey to Morgause’s influence, once the prospect of having a family was dangled before her.

He was certain that Morgause would not be above preying on her sister’s emotions if she thought that she could lure her onto her side. She had undoubtedly planned to tell Morgana of their kinship once she succeeded in killing the other occupants of the castle and seizing control of the kingdom, thinking that this would be enough to persuade Morgana to ally herself with her.

As terrifying as it was to think of how close Morgana had come to dying, there was a part of him that wished that he could have seen the look on Morgause’s face when she realised that, far from being willing to side with her, her half-sister chose to die to protect the people of Camelot.

He reached out to her, gently brushing her cheek with his free hand and frowning slightly at her pallor, and at the faint shadows under her eyes. Gaius insisted that the antidote had cleared the poison from her body but he couldn’t help but worry that traces of it might linger, doing silent damage, that she might be snatched away from him after all. “You’re pale, child. Perhaps you should see Gaius.”

“I saw him this morning.” The response was automatic and, if the wary expression on her face was any indication, she had not intended to share this with him. “I didn’t sleep well,” she elaborated.

It was no surprise, under the circumstances.

He could not fail to be aware of how difficult the past year was for her.

Her nightmares grew steadily worse after Arthur’s near-death after being bitten by the Questing Beast, and despite Gaius’ skill as a physician, the sleeping draughts he brewed for her seemed to provide her with very little relief. She was attacked with magic in her bedchamber, where she should have been safe from harm and, despite his best efforts, he was unable to discover the sorcerer responsible. All he could do was round up those under suspicion of sorcery, hoping that the guilty party was among their number. He had not been able to discover which of them was responsible but, as the attacks had ceased after that, he was sure that one of them must be to blame. He was ready to execute them all, to be certain that the culprit would not escape retribution, but had relented, against his better judgement, allowing himself to be swayed by Morgana’s plea that she did not want innocent people to die for her sake. Just a few weeks later, she was abducted by bandits during her pilgrimage to Gorlois’ grave, mercifully escaping their clutches before they could harm her. He would have paid whatever ransom they demanded in order to get her back, and then burned Hengist’s stronghold to the ground. Like him and Arthur, she was rattled by how easily the troll infiltrated their lives, and by the damage it did in its short weeks posing as Queen. He still couldn’t believe that the troll was able to lead him to disinherit his son, or that he threatened both of his children with death for speaking against it.

And then there was Morgause, who used her to try to bring down Camelot, forcing her to choose between her life and the lives of those around her.

“If you need to rest, don’t worry about any of our guests, or about the ceremony,” he told her.

“I’m not going to miss Arthur’s big day,” she protested immediately. “Everybody is looking forward to it. They’re all very proud of him, after what he did.”

“He would have failed, if it hadn’t been for you.”

He had no wish to disregard Arthur’s true accomplishments – between his successful quest and his defence of the city against Morgause, his son had more than proven his worthiness to be King – but there was no escaping this truth. Had it not been for Morgana, Arthur and the men who joined with him to fight off the Knights of Medhir would have succumbed to Morgause’s spell, and would have been rendered incapable of fighting, incapable of defending themselves when the Knights slaughtered them, along with every other victim of the sleeping curse.

They would not have lasted another minute, had the curse not been lifted.

He wished that he could see her publicly honoured for the part she had played in defeating Morgause but, not only would that mean diminishing Arthur’s heroism in the eyes of the people he would one day rule, people who needed to be able to have faith that he was strong enough to defend them from all those who sought to threaten the kingdom, it was bound to lead to questions about why Morgause chose to single Morgana out to be the vessel of her spell, sparing her from its effects. The last thing that Morgana needed was for anybody to connect her to Morgause, or to wonder if she was her willing accomplice rather than her victim.

He wished that he could tell her just how proud of her he was, and just how much it meant to him to know that, while they might quarrel about some things, he could trust in her loyalty in every way that truly mattered, but the words wouldn’t come.

“Gorlois would be so proud of you,” he said instead.

“I hope so.”

“I know it.”

She smiled at that, holding his gaze for a moment before excusing herself to prepare for the ceremony.

He watched her go, berating himself for all he left unsaid.


	2. Chapter Two

Merlin inwardly blessed Gaius when he entered the physician’s quarters to find a large bowl of warm water waiting for him, along with a plate of bread, cheese and a few slices of meat.

He eagerly snatched up the plate, cramming the food into his mouth, knowing that he had little time to spare for the table manners his mother had painstakingly instilled in him as a child.

By the time he saw Arthur’s horse safely stabled, his lunch delivered, his bath prepared and his clothes clean, brushed and laid out, he knew that he would have little time to make his own preparations. He knew that his hated ceremonial robes were clean, as he had managed to avoid wearing them since the memorable reception for Lord Bayard, but the day’s exertions left him sweaty and grimy enough to have to wash, and he knew that if he couldn’t make time to have something to eat before the ceremony, it would be late at night before he had another chance. Master Varric’s eagle eyes would not miss any servant who tried to slip something from the platters of food they would be serving the nobility from and he would not let it go unremarked.

It was unwise for any of the servants to get on the steward's bad side, as he was certain to remember it the next time he needed somebody for a particularly unpleasant or onerous chore.

Maybe some of the servants could hope to get away with not being present for the ceremony itself, slipping in and joining the rest of the servants only when it was time for them to help serve at the banquet afterwards, but as manservant to the Prince - soon to be the Crown Prince - there was no chance that his absence would go unnoticed, even if he was willing to miss Arthur’s big moment, which he had no intention of doing. This was one ceremony he was looking forward to witnessing.

There was no doubt that Arthur had earned this honour.

During his earliest days as Arthur’s servant, he found it very difficult to believe it when Gaius told him that Arthur had his own duties and burdens to shoulder. At first glance, it appeared that the life of a prince was one of luxury and ease, and of honour and glory but he soon learned that a great deal was expected of Arthur, and that the King was the most demanding of him by far.

Merlin knew something of the history of Camelot and of Uther’s reign, so he knew that while Uther had claimed the right to be King as the direct descendant of the line of ancient Kings who once ruled the land, he had had to fight to have that claim recognised by the handful of families who had claimed dominion over the land since his ancestor was overthrown, and to continue to fight to defend his claim against powerful nobles who would challenge him and the rulers of other kingdoms, who coveted the wealth of Camelot. Uther had had to prove his worth by claiming the kingdom by right of conquest as well as by right of inheritance, and by holding his kingdom against all those who would have challenged him so, to his mind, Arthur must also prove his worth if he was to be deemed worthy of inheriting the kingdom his father had built.

He was accustomed to seeing Arthur push himself to win every tournament and joust, knowing that the King expected his son to distinguish himself and that he would be disappointed in him if he failed to show the kingdom that he was the strongest warrior Camelot could boast, but even so, he was taken aback when he learned that that was not all that was expected of Arthur.

He thought that it was madness for a King to send his only son and heir on a quest that was designed to be difficult and dangerous in order to prove his worthiness of the Crown.

Not only had Arthur proven himself as a warrior many times over, both on the tournament grounds and in battle against a multitude of foes, magical and mundane, it seemed foolish to expect him to deliberately court danger, for no better reason than to bring back a trinket to serve as a souvenir of the unnecessary risks he had faced.

Even a great warrior like Arthur could be injured or even killed on a quest, if luck was not on his side or the odds he faced were too great, leaving Uther without any heir to succeed him. No matter how skilled he was in combat, he was neither invincible nor infallible.

If he was, Merlin wouldn’t have to save his life as often as he did.

If Uther or the lords on the Council knew that Merlin slipped away to follow his master on his quest, rather than taking advantage of his master's absence to indulge himself at the tavern, as Gaius was likely to claim if Merlin's absence was noted, they would undoubtedly treat it as a joke. They would be unable to decide whether Merlin should be commended for his loyalty towards Arthur and his determination to keep him safe from harm, or scorned for being such a fool as to think that he, a mere servant who had barely mastered the rudiments of combat skills, despite spending the past two years as Arthur’s unwilling sparring partner, could think that he would ever be able to be a help to Arthur rather than a hindrance if they ran into danger.

It wasn’t as though he had ever been of use to Arthur in a crisis, after all!

Knowing that it was expected of Arthur that he should complete his quest unaided in order to prove his worth, Merlin had planned to stay out of sight and, if his magic was needed to protect Arthur, to be so discreet about it that neither Arthur nor anybody else would ever have to know about his involvement. However, despite his intentions, discretion was not an option, especially after he ran into Gwaine and Elyan, the former insisting on joining him, claiming that it had been too long since he had a proper fight. While Gwaine's companion was not as enthusiastic about the prospect of facing mortal peril, he was a brave man who was not prepared to stay behind while his friend risked his life.

It was not until they were on their way back to the castle that he learned that Elyan was Gwen’s brother, who had left home after a quarrel with his father before Merlin arrived in Camelot.

What a small world they lived in that the brother of Merlin's friend and the woman Arthur loved had crossed paths with the man who had been banished from Camelot months before, and that they both found Merlin when Arthur needed all of the help he could be given.

Arthur was furious to see them, furious that he could not complete his quest unaided as he was supposed to, despite the fact that he was a hairsbreadth away from being killed by wyvern when they arrived but even he had had to see the sense of accepting their help now that they were there and, once the trident of the Fisher King was in his hands, he cheered up considerably. He would have found the shame of returning to Camelot empty-handed unbearable and, even if he was allowed to go on another quest, a second chance to prove himself worthy of his inheritance after failing to achieve the impossible, and succeeded, it would not lessen the sting of the first failure.

Merlin didn’t know what had drawn him away from the others, to the dusty, cobwebbed throne room but, somehow, it had not surprised him to see the ancient Fisher King there, waiting for him.

There was nothing he could do to heal the Fisher King's wound, nothing he could do for him except use his magic to end his suffering, and accept the gift he offered in return; a glass vial of water from the Lake of Avalon.

_"When all seems lost, this will show you the way."_

He hadn’t understood what it meant, not then.

By order of the King, Gwaine was forbidden to cross the border into Camelot and had intended to part ways with them once they reached it. Merlin had tried to persuade Elyan to return to Camelot, telling him that he was certain that Gwen would have missed him and that she would be overjoyed to have him back, but he was having little luck persuading him. Had Lancelot and his friend Percival, who had set out for Camelot to warn Arthur after hearing of a planned attack on the city, not found them first, both Gwaine and Elyan would probably have parted company with them. Once they knew of the threat, however, neither of them hesitated before pledging their aid.

Merlin shuddered to think of what might have happened, had Lancelot and Percival stopped for a meal in a tavern in a different village to the one nearest to the ruins of Idirsholas. 

It was there that they heard that the Fires of Idirsholas were lit, and the tavern was full of people ready to regale them with the dark legends of the Knights who slept within the forbidding structure. Neither of them was especially superstitious or prone to panic at the first hint of danger but Lancelot had experienced an attack by a creature of magic before, and knew better than to dismiss the tales as nonsense, as quite a few of the tavern’s patrons had. When he and Percival went to investigate, and saw the Knights awakened and riding in the direction of Camelot, they rode as fast as their horses could carry them, determined to reach it before the Knights did, so they could warn them of the impending attack.

They found Arthur and Merlin with Gwaine and Elyan, before the latter two went on their way, and they returned to Camelot as a band of six.

Had Uther been there to see how four commoners, one of whom he had banished from Camelot on pain of death, another who was stripped of the knighthood he had earned for the crime of not being of noble blood, and a third whose father was unjustly accused of treason and killed by Uther's soldiers, all prepared to risk their lives in defence of his kingdom, he would have had no choice but to see that, though their blood might not be noble, their hearts were.

No nobly-born knight of Camelot could have fought more valiantly.

_The citadel was eerily silent when their party of six rode through the city gates._

_People lay on the ground, leaned against walls, or slumped over whatever object was closest to them. Mercifully, nobody appeared to have been hurt but not a soul was stirring as they rode through the lower town to the castle courtyard, where a cart was being pulled by horses whose driver was fast asleep on his seat. The palace was as silent as the rest of the citadel, with nobles and servants alike lying sound asleep in the corridors, never stirring as they passed them._

_No natural illness could have struck like this, so suddenly that people fell asleep where they stood, not even having a chance to make their way to their beds, or to Gaius' quarters for a remedy._

_Arthur led the way, wanting to find his father and Morgana, to establish that they were safe._

_As Morgana's chambers were the closest, they went to check on her first but, when they entered, the only person they could see was Gwen, lying on the stone floor, so still that only the slow rise and fall of her chest reassured them that she was alive. Elyan and Lancelot both moved towards her but Arthur was quicker and, after lifting her carefully in his arms, he carried her over to gently deposit her on Morgana's bed, brushing a stray curl away from her face. He stood there for a long moment, watching her, and Merlin was certain that he was not the only person who felt like an intruder, spying on a tender moment not meant for his eyes._

_He glanced away, briefly meeting Lancelot's eyes and seeing a flash of pain that the other man could not disguise._

_When he looked towards Elyan, he saw him regard Arthur and his sister with a mixture of surprise, curiousity and suspicion, and could guess what thoughts must be running through his mind._

_It was no secret that the prettiest maids who served in the palace often attracted the interest of noblemen who viewed servants as existing for nothing more than to serve the needs of those privileged to be born into the nobility and who did not trouble themselves to think what would become of their bedfellows when the affair was over. Young women could be lured into sharing their beds with the promise of a coin or, in some cases, if the noble in question amused himself by letting them believe that he truly cared for them, they could imagine that he might love them enough to marry them. How many poor, gullible girls had fantasised that their nobly-born lover would marry them, raising them from servant to lady out of love for them?_

_Though the wages earned by a maid could mean the difference between penury and survival for a family, their kin must be worried about the unspoken threats to a pretty, naive girl._

_Arthur's royal status would mean nothing to Elyan if he thought that he planned to dishonour his sister, leading her on only to break her heart when he tired of her, or promising her marriage when he knew that this was a promise that he would never be able to keep and that, someday soon, the King would choose a princess for his son to wed but the love in Arthur's eyes was unfeigned, as was the tenderness with which he placed her on the luxurious bed._

_The moment of tenderness and tranquility was broken by the faint sound of rustling fabric._

_As one, the five armed men gripped their swords tightly, ready for action._

_Arthur left Gwen's bedside to move towards the source of the sound; one of the heavy, dark red velvet curtains used as partitions. Knowing that, with the occupants of the castle sound asleep, anybody outside their party who was still capable of movement was certain to be an invader, Arthur moved slowly, cautiously and as silently as possible, motioning for the rest of them to stay where they were, in the hopes that whoever had secreted themselves behind the curtain would think that their faint movements had gone undetected. Quick as a flash, his free hand darted behind the curtain, seizing the person by the wrist and yanking them forward._

_Morgana's frightened scream she was dragged from her hiding place startled them almost as much as the fact that she was still very much awake._

_Knowing from Gaius that, despite his best efforts to help her, her control of her magic was still very fragile, especially when she was angry, upset or afraid, Merlin was deeply thankful that her magic hadn't erupted in response to her shock. That was the last thing they needed!_

_"It's me! It's me, Morgana! What's happened?" Arthur tried to calm her down but, as he questioned her about what had happened, he grew impatient with her inability to provide him with any useful clarification about what had happened, who was responsible, and the whereabouts and well-being of the King. His tone of voice betrayed his increasing exasperation as he questioned her._

_"Arthur, she's distressed," Merlin cut in, fearing an involuntary outburst of magic on Morgana's part if she wasn't given a chance to calm down and keep her powers under control._

_"If she was awake then she must have seen something," Arthur retorted._

_"I didn't see anything," Morgana insisted._

_"You saw people getting sick, what did you do?" He pressed her, eyes narrowing in disapproval at the idea that she had not at least_ tried to do something to help when everybody around her, including Gwen, lost consciousness, even if none of them could think of anything that she could have done, in the face of a bizarre and clearly unnatural ailment.

"What could I do?"

"Morgana, I don't understand. Why is it that you're the only person awake?"

All Morgana could do was shake her head in response and, recognising that there were no answers to be had from her, at least for the time being, Arthur threw up his hands in exasperation, giving up on his questions for the moment and focusing his efforts on locating his father, deeming the safety of the King to be the highest priority if they were to be attacked, though Merlin could imagine how difficult it must be for him to leave Gwen alone and helpless.

Arthur led the way out of the room, with Lancelot, Gwaine, Elyan and Percival on his heels, and Merlin and Morgana bringing up the rear.

Merlin felt a hand grip his arm, holding him back.

Morgana waited until the others were far enough ahead of them to be out of earshot before she spoke. "Arthur isn't going to stop asking until he knows why I haven't fallen asleep, is he." It wasn't a question but Merlin still shook his head in response, knowing that, if Arthur believed that Morgana somehow possessed the key to how the sleeping sickness could be cured, he would be determined to learn what it was, both to ensure that he and his small company did not fall prey to it before they could defend the city from its mysterious foe, and so they could wake those who were already sleeping. "I have magic, Merlin," her voice was whisper-soft but filled with fear and desperation. "It's the only explanation. What am I going to do? I can't let Arthur know!"

At first, he believed that she was right about the cause of her immunity.

When Arthur resumed his questioning after they found Uther, unwilling to leave her alone until he was given a plausible explanation for why she had not succumbed to the sickness, Merlin stepped in, concocting an explanation about Morgana being among the last to fall ill, and taking a potion in time to stave off the symptoms. Fortunately, Arthur accepted this explanation and didn't question her any further. Unfortunately, he now expected them to be able to find a potion that did not exist.

He believed in Morgana's theory about why she had not fallen ill until the moment he began to experience symptoms, and then he knew that there had to be another explanation.

If Morgana's magic was enough to protect her, then his magic, so much stronger than hers, should have been more than enough to ensure that he was unaffected, even if the other men succumbed.

With no answers, and knowing that it was only a matter of time before he too fell asleep and was rendered incapable of protecting Arthur, he had no choice but to seek out the Great Dragon for information. He knew even before he made his way to the vast cavern beneath the castle that the information would come at a price, just as he knew what that price was going to be. 

The Great Dragon had demanded his freedom as the price of his help to defeat the spirit of Cornelius Sigan, when he possessed Cedric and almost destroyed the city, and he reminded him of his promise to free him every time he had to seek his aid, even when it was made clear to him that it was for Arthur's sake that he needed the information that only a creature of magic as old, as powerful and as knowledgeable as the Great Dragon could give him.

Nothing less than the promise of freedom would suffice, a promise Merlin had to swear on his mother's life to honour before the Great Dragon relented and told him how the spell could be lifted.

The Great Dragon's explanation about how Morgana had been used as the source of the powerful enchantment that had rendered everybody in Camelot unconscious and helpless when Morgause invaded, with the Knights of Medhir under her command, angered and saddened Merlin, but his answer about the only way in which the spell could be lifted horrified him.

How could he kill his friend in cold blood? It was unthinkable.

But how could he refuse to do so, if the alternative was that Camelot would fall to Morgause, with Arthur killed and all hope of the great kingdom he was destined to build lost forever?

It was his destiny to protect Arthur and to help him become the King he was meant to be.  
All his life, he had wondered why he was born with such powerful magic, the like of which had never before been wielded by a single individual, until he came to Camelot. 

When the Great Dragon told him of his destiny, he knew that his life had a purpose. He was no monster, as he secretly feared when he was a lonely boy that few of the other children in Ealdor were willing to play with, sensing that there was something different about him. He was no accident of fate, burdened with great powers that he would have to suppress all his life, knowing that those around him would fear and hate him if they knew what he could do. He was born as he was for a reason. He was born as he was because it was his destiny to reshape the world he lived in, to make something better of it, in a way that only he had the power to.

Without him, Arthur would never become the great King who was destined to unite Albion and restore magic but without Arthur, he would have no King to guide towards a golden age. 

Protecting Arthur had to be his priority, regardless of the cost.

The Great Dragon's warnings about how Morgana was dangerous, and how it would have been better for everybody if she had never learned that she had magic, had echoed in his mind as he rifled through Gaius' extensive store of vials, until he located the one he wanted: the tiny vial of hemlock hidden at the back of one of the shelves, intentionally placed where it would be unnoticed by a visitor's cursory inspection of the medical stores.

_Once they located the King and knew that, as the Knights of Medhir were under the control of Morgause, who was certain to recognise him, they could not hope to disguise Uther in the hope that he would be spared if the invaders believed him to be a servant, Arthur decided that their safest course of action was to split up, and prepare to smuggle the King out of the city._

_The only weapon at their disposal that proved to be of any use against the Knights of Medhir was the Fisher King's trident, and even that could only wound them, not kill them._

_Merlin wished that he had hidden the sword forged in the breath of the Great Dragon in the castle rather than casting it in the Lake of Avalon. If it could kill a Wraith, then surely it would be able to kill the Knights of Medhir. But there was no sense in wishing for what could not be. They could only make do with the sadly few advantages they had at their disposal._

_Percival and Elyan were dispatched to find a means of transporting the King out of the city, while Arthur and Gwaine fought off the Knights of Medhir as best they could, with only one barely effective weapon between them. Merlin, Lancelot and Morgana were charged with getting Uther to the relative safety of the throne room, where the heavy doors should be able to hold off the Knights' onslaught, even if only for a matter of minutes._

_With Uther secured in a makeshift sack, made from grey blankets found in the servants' quarters, they dragged him along between them as fast as they could but they were not so fast that they were able to escape the notice of one of the Knights, who followed them, moving at a slow, steady pace as he narrowed the gap between him and his prey._

_The Knight had no need to hurry._

_They could not hope to escape him for long._

_When Morgana tripped, the Knight ignored the rest of them and bore down on her, sword in hand, ready to strike while she cowered against a wall, screaming and pleading for their help._

_"Merlin!"_

_He knew what it was that Lancelot expected of him._

_Mortal weapons had no effect against the Knights of Medhir, particularly when wielded by bearers who had to struggle to keep from falling asleep where they stood, but that was not the only weapon at their disposal. Even if his magic could not destroy the Knight, he should still be able to send it hurtling away from Morgana, buying them enough time to escape._

_It lay within his power to help her but he couldn't force himself to do it, not when this might be the solution to his dilemma. He had no wish to harm her, if he could avoid doing so, but he also could not leave her alive, not when the dark magic that had infected her was gradually but relentlessly taking hold of them, when they might have no more than a matter of minutes left before they were all slumped on the floor, sleeping the sleep of the dead and helpless to defend themselves. He could not leave her alive when it would mean Arthur's death._

_Maybe it was better this way._

_This way, she would die at the hands of a foe rather than one she had called a friend._

_This way, he would not have to look their friends in the eye, knowing that he killed her._

_Arthur's orders were for them to protect Uther with their lives. There had been no doubt that the life of the King was to be their priority. Arthur would grieve for Morgana, as all who loved her would, but he would understand that they had been unable to save both her and Uther, and he wouldn't blame Merlin for following his orders and focusing his efforts on saving his father._

_The Knight did not strike straight away. He lowered his sword as he approached her, studying her, assessing her as a potential threat... or perhaps sensing Morgause's magic in her, and knowing that it must not be destroyed... and then moved away from her, without harming her._

_It took Lancelot only a brief moment to realise that Merlin was not going to use his magic against the Knight, and only a heartbeat longer to spring into action._

_Even as the Knight strode past Morgana, Lancelot released his hold on the blankets that encased Uther and charged forward, his sword at the ready, battling the Knight with enough skill and ferocity to force him to retreat a few paces, before disarming him, sending his sword clattering along the stone floor of the corridor. He bent down to help Morgana to her feet, half-dragging her towards the throne room while Merlin struggled behind them, burdened with Uther's weight._

_As soon as they were all safely inside the throne room, with the doors securely barricaded, Lancelot took advantage of Morgana's momentary distraction as she checked over Uther to drag Merlin to one corner, out of her earshot if they kept their voices low, and to hiss a furious question._

_"What was that about?"_

If Merlin lived to be twice as old as Gaius, he would never forget the look on Lancelot's face when he told him that they had to kill Morgana. 

He had not wanted to tell him, knowing that it was unfair of him to expect the other man to help shoulder the burden that had been laid on him but Lancelot had demanded answers, insisting that the Merlin he knew would not have left a friend to die when it lay within his power to save her life, and there was a part of him that _needed_ to share his terrible secret. Maybe there was also a part of him that wanted to hear Lancelot reassure him that he was doing the right thing, that if there was no other way to save Camelot, he must do this terrible deed for all their sakes.

Instead, Lancelot's eyes were full of anger, sorrow and betrayal as he looked at Merlin, as though he could no longer recognise him as the man he once called a friend. His fist tightened around the hilt of his sword, ready to strike, but his voice was soft and almost frighteningly calm as he told Merlin that, if he intended to kill Morgana, he would have to go through him to do it.

_"Nothing good can come of killing an innocent person. There is always a terrible price to pay."_

_“If we do nothing, we will have only a few minutes before we fall asleep,” Merlin hissed, casting a worried glance in Morgana’s direction, to make sure that she wasn’t listening. Thankfully, she was too busy trying to get Uther settled, and to find something to use to shelter them, though shelter would do Uther no good, once his protectors were sleeping as soundly as he was. Only Morgana would be left alert enough to help him, and Merlin couldn’t be sure that she would. Even if she tried to defend him, she would fail. She would never be able to fight off the Knights of Medhir, and her magic would be no match for Morgause. Only he could protect them, and he couldn’t do that if he succumbed to the spell. “Arthur and the others could be asleep now, for all we know!”_

_The thought was a terrible one._

_If Arthur had already fallen asleep, the Knights would have slaughtered him without mercy._

_If he was already gone, if all hope for the future was lost…_

_Merlin had to believe that Arthur was still alive, that he would have sensed it if something terrible had happened to him, but even if he was still alive and alert, it was only a matter of time. Arthur’s only hope was for Merlin to end the spell._

_“Couldn’t you use your magic to -”_

_“No!” Merlin snapped, before Lancelot had a chance to finish voicing his question. He felt so helpless and so frustrated by his inability to put an end to Morgause’s enchantment. He was supposed to be the most powerful warlock who had ever lived, or ever would live. He was born with magic rather than having to learn it, and could even control it as an infant, which Gaius told him was unprecedented. All of his magic was gifted to him so that he could use it to protect Arthur and now, with Arthur in mortal peril thanks to a spell cast by a sorceress, less powerful than he, though better trained, he had no power to lift the enchantment that was slowly but surely rendering them all helpless. He was not even able to wake up a single person. This time, his magic could not save them. This time, his magic would not allow him to avoid what must be done. “She is the vessel for the spell that put everybody to sleep.” He couldn’t bring himself to refer to Morgana by name. “It won’t be lifted until she dies.”_

_“She doesn’t know that,” Lancelot pointed out and, much as Merlin would have liked to argue with him, Morgana’s terror when faced with the Knight of Medhir was too real for him to make himself believe that she was conspiring with Morgause and knew that she was safe from attack. “You will not kill her.” Lancelot’s sword was drawn and he lifted it slightly, to point it at Merlin, his determined stance leaving Merlin in no doubt that, if it came to it, he would strike him down before he allowed him to move against Morgana._

_Merlin whispered a spell under his breath, one that should have sent Lancelot to sleep. He knew that Lancelot was a man of honour and that, having committed himself, he would not be prepared to allow Merlin to harm Morgana, even if his own life was at stake. If he could put him to sleep, it would all be over by the time he woke._

_His spell didn’t work._

_He didn’t feel his magic humming within him, that mighty force that had always been there, tamed and ready to do his bidding._

_Morgause’s enchantment had not just robbed him of his physical energy as it dragged him closer and closer to unconsciousness; it had robbed him of the strength he needed to use his magic._

_He could have wept with anger and frustration, knowing that, without his magic, he had no hope of forcing his way past Lancelot. Even if he tried to push him aside, Morgana could not fail to notice and would be alarmed by his strange behaviour. He needed her trust if he was to convince her to take a drink when he offered her one. He was too weak to physically overpower her._

_Could Lancelot not see that this was the only way?_

_Could he not trust Merlin enough to know that he would never contemplate such an act if he did not know that it was the only way to save them all?_

_“You have to let me do this! If you don’t, we will both die! Gwen will die!” He saw Lancelot flinch at his last plea and, for a moment, he hoped that he had managed to reach him, that his love for Gwen would mean that he would be prepared to do whatever it took to save her, no matter how terrible it was. Lancelot faltered for only the briefest of instants before he tightened his grip on his sword, touching the tip of the blade to Merlin’s chest in an unspoken warning not to move an inch. “Arthur will die if you don’t let me end the spell!”_

_He knew that Lancelot shared his belief that, when the time came, Arthur would be a great King who would make Camelot a better place for everybody who lived in it, rather than just improving the lot of those of noble blood, so how could he demand that they stand by and let him die when it lay within their power to at least give him a fighting chance against the Knights of Medhir?_

_Once Morgause’s spell was no longer sapping the strength from his body and his magic, Merlin would be able to defeat her, as he had so many other foes who threatened Arthur and Camelot._

_He could save everybody in the city, except Morgana._

_“I will not commit murder for Arthur,” Lancelot said quietly, but so firmly that it was clear that there would be no moving him. “And neither should you. Do you think this is what he would want?”_

_“Of course not!” If Arthur knew what he was doing, Merlin was certain that he would want to kill him himself, and that he would not allow Morgana’s life to be sacrificed for his, but Arthur did not know of the great things that he was meant to achieve, or that he would need to have Merlin by his side in order to achieve these things. “But there’s no other way! She has to die!”_

_“Merlin?” The sound of Morgana’s voice startled Merlin so badly that he forgot that Lancelot’s sword was touching his chest. It split the fabric of his shirt and sliced the skin of his chest, leaving a thin, bleeding, shallow cut, when he whirled around to look at her. Her face was pale and her eyes betrayed her fear. “What’s going on?”_

_“Tell her,” Lancelot commanded him. “Tell her what you were going to do, or I will.”_

_His mouth felt dry and he had to swallow a couple of times before he could say anything. He was growing weaker and weaker with each passing moment, and knew that it would not be long now before he fully succumbed to the effects of the enchantment. This would be his only chance to tell her what was happening, to explain why he had had to do this terrible thing, so he chose his words carefully, hoping that he could make her understand._

_“It’s a spell, not a sickness. That’s why everybody is falling asleep. Morgause wanted to make sure that nobody would be able to fight her. It’s powerful magic, not like other spells. The only way it can work is if there’s a vessel for the spell… it has to live in a person.”_

_“You think that I am the vessel?” Morgana shook her head frantically, as though denying the truth could change it. “You’re wrong! I haven’t seen Morgause in months, since she came to Camelot!”_

_“I believe that the spell was cast on you without your knowledge, my lady,” Lancelot cut in gently. “If the sorceress had a chance to get close to you…”_

_Morgana’s face became even paler as she digested this. “She came into my chambers before,” her voice was almost imperceptible. “I was asleep, and she left a bracelet. I had told her that I couldn’t accept it.” Merlin hoped that his face didn’t reveal to her that this was no surprise to him; Gaius had spoken of it to him, troubled that Morgause would approach Morgana and that she wanted her to wear an enchanted bracelet, even if it appeared to be harmless. Fortunately for him, Morgana was too caught up in her horror at what she was being told to pay attention to his expression. She looked sickened at the thought that her chambers had been invaded a second time, her body used as the vessel of an enchantment intended to bring down Camelot._

_“It’s why you haven’t fallen asleep,” Merlin told her. “The_ real _reason why.” He was ready to tell her about his magic if she refused to believe him, to tell her that he knew that her immunity was not because of her own magic, but he could tell by the look in her eyes that she knew he was right._

_“You were going to kill me but Lancelot wouldn’t let you.” Merlin wished that she could be angry with him but, instead, Morgana was hurt. “I thought that you were my friend.”_

_“I am!” He protested automatically. They were not closely entwined, as he and Arthur were, and they didn’t share the same, easy companionship that he shared with Gwen, but he still thought of her as a friend, and she had helped him before, when he needed it. It was so cruel and unfair that he had been forced into a position where he had to kill one friend to save his other friends._

_“How were you going to do it? Were you going to stab me in the back, or were you going to look at me when you did it?” Her tone was still hurt rather than accusatory, which made it even worse._

_“Hemlock. I was going to put it in the water. You have to understand,” he needed her to see that he would never willingly hurt her. “As long as you are alive, the spell will put everybody else to sleep, and nobody will be able to wake up. Everybody will die!” He could feel his eyes filling with tears of frustration at his failure, at the thought that this was the end his destiny would come to._

_Arthur would die and he would be powerless to save him._

_Instead of a glorious, united Albion, where magic was restored and respected and where every citizen enjoyed a life of peace and prosperity, the kingdom would be left to Morgause’s mercy._

_Would she lift the spell so the citizens could wake to learn that their King and Prince were dead, and that they were now to be ruled by the sorceress who conquered the kingdom while they slept, or would she leave them to their enchanted slumber until they died for lack of food and water?_

_“I see,” Morgana’s voice was calm, unsettlingly so. She extended one hand to him, palm up. “Give me the hemlock.”_

_“My lady!”_

_“It’s my life, or everybody else’s,” she pointed out, silencing Lancelot’s protests. She did not look in his direction as she spoke, did not take her eyes off Merlin as she waited for him to place the vial of poison in her outstretched hand._

_Merlin had thought himself resolved in his decision to end the enchantment, by any means necessary but, though he had believed that it was the only thing he could do, believed that he was justified in sacrificing one life to save everybody else, he couldn’t bring himself to give the vial to her, knowing that, if he did, she would be dead in minutes, by her own hand._

_What if the Great Dragon was wrong?_

_What if he was withholding part of the truth?_

_Merlin had no doubt that killing Morgana would end the enchantment. The Great Dragon had used this information as a bargaining chip to secure his freedom, and he must know that Merlin was his only hope of ever seeing the world outside the confines of his cavernous prison. No other would ever have the power to break the chains that bound him. He would not lie about the means by which the spell could be broken, not when Merlin’s death would be the death of his hope for freedom, but he might be willing to_ bend _the truth, to make him believe that it was the_ only _way._

_Despite Merlin’s defence of her and his assertion that she had a good heart, the Great Dragon remained adamant that Morgana was dangerous. He had not wanted her to learn the truth about her magic, insisting that she would be a threat to Arthur as long as she lived._

_It was all too easy to believe that the Great Dragon would insist that she had to die, even if he knew of another way to break the enchantment… another way…_

_He reached into his pocket, his fingers closing around a glass vial but it was not the hemlock he had taken from Gaius’ stores._

_It might have been a trick of the light, or a symptom of his growing fatigue, but for a moment, it seemed as though the water from the Lake of Avalon glowed with an unmistakably magical light._

_**"When all seems lost, this will show you the way."** _

_That was what the Fisher King had said, as he pressed the vial into Merlin’s hand, bestowing on him the true prize of Arthur’s quest._

_He didn’t see Freya’s image in the water, and he didn’t hear her voice but he sensed that she was with him, and somehow, without knowing_ how _he knew, he knew what needed to be done._

_He did not tell Morgana or Lancelot, afraid of giving them false hope if he was wrong._

_He watched in silence as Morgana uncorked the vial of hemlock and, moving quickly, as though she feared that she might lose her nerve if she allowed herself to hesitate, swallowed the poison. She dropped the vial, allowing it to smash on the stone floor of the throne room._

_The rasping, ragged sounds of her breathing as she struggled to get air into her lungs, a struggle that grew more difficult with each passing breath, were the only sound in the room for several terrible, unbearably long moments, and then there was a rustle of fabric as her legs grew too weak to support her. Lancelot caught her in his arms, gently lowering her to the floor and holding her so that her head rested against his chest. Merlin wanted to offer some comfort but he didn’t dare to touch her, nor could he force his voice to utter a single word._

_He knew that he could not be too quick about his next move._

_Morgana needed to be dead for Morgause’s spell to die with her._

_The sound of hitched, labored breathing grew fainter and fainter, and the rise and fall of her chest was barely perceptible._

_Morgana’s last breath left her lungs an instant before the doors to the throne room were blasted off their hinges, and Morgause raced into the room._

_Later, he would be surprised that he managed to stay so calm, just as he was surprised that, rather than being furious over the way her plan was thwarted, Morgause’s concern was for Morgana, and her fury directed at Merlin and Lancelot as she accused them of poisoning her. She looked genuinely devastated when Lancelot told her than Morgana chose to take poison, killing herself rather than allowing herself to be used as a weapon against Camelot._

_“Tell me what she used and I can save her.”_

_He didn’t know why Morgause was so anxious to save Morgana but he saw her anxiety as an opportunity to end this, once and for all._

_“No,” he told her. “But if you undo the magic that drives the Knights and leave Camelot,_ I _will save her.”_

_He could feel himself growing more alert, could feel his magic stirring within him, as he faced down Morgause, refusing to tell her which poison Morgana had used, while Lancelot, sword in hand, kept her from coming any closer to Morgana. He refused to allow Morgause to see any hint of fear in his eyes, though he was terrified that, if he left it too late, Morgana would be past saving._

_He could have wept with joy when Morgause finally yielded, reciting the spell that would stop the Knights in their tracks before she disappeared in a whirlwind of smoke and light, allowing him and Lancelot to begin to try to revive Morgana._

_Her first breath was a miracle._

“Merlin!” Gaius’ voice, sharp with impatience, intruded on his thoughts. “Are you going to stand there all day, or did you want to be late for the ceremony?” he asked, once he had his attention.

Merlin didn’t answer. He stuffed the last of the food into his mouth before setting the plate aside, rolling up his sleeves and starting to wash. The water had cooled and he grimaced slightly as he dunked a cloth into it, scrubbing his face and arms before taking off his shirt to sponge the thin layer of sweat and grime from his upper body. There was no time for him to wash his hair but he combed it thoroughly, thinking as he did so that nobody would be able to see anything of his hair under the monstrosity of a hat he would soon be obliged to don.

Glancing at the bench across the room, he noticed a neat row of small bottles, each labelled in careful script, which had not been there this morning.

“When did Morgana visit?”

If Uther knew, he would undoubtedly disapprove of the idea of his ward assisting the court physician in his duties but having a task with which to occupy herself seemed to help Morgana ground herself when she felt her control of her magic slipping. If she suspected that Gaius intentionally left some of the plants Merlin gathered aside so that she would have something to sort when she visited, or that she had rolled the same bandages at least a dozen times without them being used since she last did it, she had not said so.

Merlin’s duties with Arthur kept him too busy to spend much time helping Gaius during the day, except in a crisis when another pair of hands were needed - though there was always plenty for him to do in the early mornings, and late in the evening after Arthur dismissed him - and on the occasions when he had encountered her working on some task or another in the physician’s quarters, she said little to him, focusing her energies on meticulously completing each job she was given, and on calming the storm of magic raging within her.

He once jokingly suggested that Gaius should set her to cleaning the leech tank but the look on Gaius’ face made it clear that he did not consider this a laughing matter. Merlin never joked about Morgana’s visits after that.

“This morning, not long after you left,” Gaius responded, his brow creased in concern. “She needed a break from dealing with the guests, and she had a very troubled night - hardly surprising, under the circumstances.” Although his gaze did not flicker in the direction of the locked drawer under the bench, he couldn’t help but think of the bracelet locked away inside it, the one Morgause left in Morgana’s room during her brief spell as a guest in Camelot, when she challenged Arthur to a duel and won. He was thankful that Morgana brought it to him the next morning, her unease over the fact that Morgause had crept into her room while she slept to leave it there outweighing her joy and relief over the fact that its magic had allowed her the first unbroken night she had had in a long time. He recognised the crest on the bracelet, though he did not tell Morgana, and knew it to be a powerful object of magic. Perhaps Morgause meant no harm by it, and wanted only to guard her sister against the nightmares that had plagued her since she was a little child, but it was not a chance he was prepared to take. Morgana did not argue when he asked her to leave the bracelet in his charge, though he knew that she must have been tempted to use it. “I don’t know how much longer this will help her,” he said, more to himself than to Merlin. “It’s getting stronger…”

“You did the right thing, Gaius,” Merlin said quietly. “If you hadn’t told her the truth…”

“I’m sure that you would have,” Gaius cut him off tartly.

The instinct to shield Morgana from the truth about her magic when she tearfully confessed to have started the fire in her chambers was as strong as it had been when she was a little girl, and a troubling number of the things she dreamed about came to pass, leading him to conclude that she had been born with a Seer’s power. Given the choice, he would not have told her, instead doing everything in his power to devise a remedy that would dampen the flame of magic flickering within her before it could erupt into an inferno. He would have done his best to convince her that she was mistaken, that she had still been asleep and that it was all part of her nightmare. He would have protected her from the fear she would undoubtedly feel if she knew that she, the ward of the King whose crusade against sorcery had resulted in countless deaths, had magic.

However, he knew that Merlin would suspect magic, once he knew what had happened. 

He was very observant when he wanted to be, and would see, as Gaius had, that the glass from Morgana’s window blew out into the courtyard rather than onto the floor of her chambers, as one would expect it too if it had been shattered by lightning, as Arthur theorised. He was also shrewd enough to know that, regardless of whether or not the candle on the small table by the window was still lit when Guinevere left her mistress for the night, the height of the curtain was such that no gust of wind could have caused the flame from the candle to reach so high that it would set it alight. Uther was right to blame magic but wrong to assume that it was the work of an enemy.

He could imagine, all too easily, how excited Merlin would be if he knew that one of his friends had magic, and how eager he would be to share all he had learned of magic over the past two years.

He could not allow that to happen.

Hunith had entrusted the care of her son to him, and it would be a poor repayment of her trust if he allowed Merlin to reveal his secret to anybody, when it was so dangerous. Uther would never change his mind about sorcery so, until Arthur became King, and was convinced that, despite his father’s teachings to the contrary, magic could be a force for good in the right hands, Merlin’s life depended on keeping his secret, though, given how careless he could be, it was a miracle that only he and Lancelot, who would have died before betraying Merlin, had learned of his magic.

He did not think that Morgana would deliberately betray Merlin but he was not prepared to gamble the boy’s life on her discretion, especially after how frightened she was when Aredian questioned her, and how close she came to breaking. In any case, she was already struggling with the idea that she possessed magic, and terrified of what would happen to her if Uther ever learned of it. She should not be asked to shoulder the burden of another’s secret.

He had not wanted to tell Morgana about her magic but, when the alternative was that Merlin would have reached out to her, he knew that he had no choice but to tell her the truth.

He could only be thankful that, thanks to the chaos of Morgause's enchantment and her invasion with the Knights of Medhir, and her own brush with death, Morgana had not thought to question how Merlin could have guessed that she had been used as the vessel for Morgause's spell rather than accepting her theory that her immunity was the result of her own magic. She also had not questioned why Morgause should take such an interest in her as to give her a healing bracelet to help her sleep or why the sorceress had chosen to leave Camelot rather than to take her chances when she saw her die, given that she would have been able to strike Uther down, even if the Knights of Medhir could not fight against the awakened knights and guards.

He had no idea what answers he could give her if she asked.

As if Morgana’s budding magic had not been worrying enough, he was also concerned about the means used to revive her after she drank poison, and the effect it would have on her.

There were legends about the Lake of Avalon, and what would happen to those who drank from it. Depending on the book he read, its fabled effects included healing, the amplification of a person’s natural magic, the gift of knowledge, longevity, and even immortality… and those were just the stories in the books he still possessed, or was able to smuggle out of the library without Geoffrey catching him and demanding to know what he was doing with books about magic. As mortals were not supposed to be able to see the Lake of Avalon, except at the moment of their deaths, the legends about what would become of those who drank water from it remained legends, until now.

The water had certainly revived Morgana after the poisoning, and bestowed Merlin with the knowledge of how Morgause’s enchantment could be ended without sacrificing Morgana, but there was no way that they could know if this would be the limit of its effect.

All he could do was keep a watchful eye on Morgana and hope that, whatever happened, he would be able to help her and keep her safe.

The other problem they faced, that of the Great Dragon, was a pressing one.

He wanted to berate Merlin when he confessed to him that he had sworn on his mother’s life that he would free the Great Dragon in return for information about how to end the sleeping spell.

While it would have been no more than a figure of speech between two ordinary people, it was another matter when it was a pledge from one creature of magic to another. Merlin’s promise to free the Great Dragon was a binding magical oath, with Hunith’s life as surety. Should he refuse to do as he had vowed, his mother would be struck dead as his punishment for breaking his oath but, after his long years of imprisonment, the Great Dragon was bound to want his revenge. Even if Merlin could find a way to break the chains with which the Great Dragon was bound, chains imbued with magic from generations of sorcerers, he would be risking the lives of everybody in Camelot if he did so without first ensuring that the Great Dragon would not attack.

Short of the Great Dragon willingly vowing to Merlin that he would not attack Camelot, there was only one way in which they could constrain him and protect the kingdom… but he doubted that Balinor would be willing to help, not after all that Uther had done to him.

In deference to Hunith’s wishes, Gaius never told Merlin the identity of his father but, while he would break his promise to her if there was no alternative, he didn’t know if that would only serve to make matters worse. As angry as Balinor already was with Uther, after being tricked into betraying the dragons and then hunted, even beyond Camelot’s borders, he could be even angrier, and even less willing to help if he learned that he had a son whose life he had not been part of. It would be one more thing that Uther had robbed him of, one more thing to hate him for.

He had not told Merlin about Balinor yet but he knew that they could not afford to ignore the issue.

Merlin’s vow might not have given a time by which he would free the Great Dragon but it was doubtful that they had the luxury of waiting until Arthur was King, and the Great Dragon no longer wished to harm Camelot, as Merlin had suggested when they discussed the matter.

If they were to save Hunith, they needed to find a solution, soon.

They would be fully occupied until Arthur’s investiture was safely over, and the guests gone but, once they had time to think, they would have to devote themselves to finding a solution.

“We should hurry,” he told Merlin, wanting to change the subject, and to leave the vexing questions of what they could do for Morgana and what they were to do about the Great Dragon for another day. “There’s not much time left to get ready.”

Merlin nodded, grimacing as he made his way to his chambers to don his ceremonial robes.

Gaius was already wearing his best robe, the one he wore on state occasions, so he waited, busying himself by putting the bottles of herbs Morgana had sorted into their proper places on the shelves. After a few minutes, he heard Merlin’s footsteps behind him, as he climbed down the short flight of steps leading to his bedchamber, his slow tread betraying his reluctance to emerge.

When he turned to look at his ward, he couldn’t help but smile.

Perhaps the official robes of the servants of Camelot, worn only on state occasions as they were too cumbersome for everyday tasks, might look well enough on others, even lending a certain air of dignity, but even without the feathered hat and stiff cape Arthur had insisted be added so that his manservant would stand out from the crowd, they would look rather silly on Merlin, whose discomfort made the outfit look awkward and ill-fitting, despite the fact that Gwen, one of the best seamstresses in Camelot, had altered it for him when Arthur first presented it to him.

“How do I look?” Merlin asked wryly, spreading his arms wide so Gaius could get the full benefit of his absurd costume, and sketching a mock bow, doffing his feathered hat.

For answer, Gaius could only chuckle.

* * *

Arthur had been waiting for this day almost as long as he could remember, since he was a little boy, just beginning his first lessons with his tutor, and the man lectured him on the importance of studying hard, impressing on him that, as he would one day be King, it was his duty to his father, to the people of Camelot and to himself that he should learn all he needed to know to be able to govern them wisely and well, when the time came. Until then, though he knew that he was the Prince and was reminded of his importance by the deferential way that servants and even visitors behaved towards him, the idea that he would one day be King was almost an alien one to him. 

His father was the centre of his world, and so strong and so powerful that it was difficult for the little boy Arthur once was to imagine that a day would come when his father would no longer be there to rule over them all, much less that he would be expected to take his place.

When he asked his father about it, he confirmed the tutor’s words, for the most part, but he also made it very clear to Arthur that he could not expect to simply be handed the kingdom one day, and for his future subjects to accept him as their King unquestioningly. He would have to prove to the common people that he was strong enough to be able to enforce the laws that existed for the protection of all, and that he would be able to defend the kingdom against those who might wish to conquer it, coveting Camelot’s wealth. He would have to prove to the nobility that he was strong enough to rule in his own right, that he would be the King and govern as he saw fit, rather than constantly having to placate his noble subjects for fear that they would seek to overthrow him if he did not pass the laws that they would have him pass and ensure their continuing prosperity.

One of his ancestors was weak, and his weakness lost their line the rule of the kingdom.

For generations, the family had lacked the resources and support to hope to reclaim their kingdom, and could only watch as others scrambled to fill the void left by a king too weak to hold his lands, seizing territory and proclaiming themselves lords of it, answerable to nobody but themselves.

His father fought to unite the kingdom under his rule and won it, and once he won it, he kept it.

If Arthur expected to be allowed to succeed his father, he would have to prove that he was worthy of being King, and that Camelot would be safe in his hands.

His father had not built his kingdom so his son could lose it a generation later.

Arthur knew that, where the eldest sons of other Kings of Albion were concerned, they could expect to be formally invested as heirs to the throne as soon as they came of age but his twenty-first birthday came and went without his father making any move to formalise his position as Crown Prince. Although he had proven his worth in battle, leading men at an age when other boys of noble birth were relegated to the role of squire, his father believed that he needed to do more to show the people of Camelot, as well as any outsiders who might be looking to him for signs of weakness, that he had the strength needed to be King. To that end, it was decided that he should embark on a quest, one that would prove, beyond all possible doubt, that he was ready to rule.

He did not resent his father for making the demands he had before he was prepared to bestow the title of Crown Prince on him.

He hated it when the knights he sparred with let him win, which was one of the reasons why he was so glad that his father had consented to knight the four commoners, as there was no way that any of them would hold back in deference to his rank. He would rather lose fairly than have them let him win. His ruse with ‘Sir William of Deira’ proved to him that he could win without needing anybody to hand him victory so the people could see their Prince triumph but he was conscious of the fact that others, who did not know of the lengths to which he had gone to prove that he deserved his victories, could easily think that he owed at least some of his success to his title.

By embarking on a quest and completing it alone, he could prove beyond all possible shadow of a doubt that he was capable of greatness… or at least he would have proven it, had Merlin not tagged along and, as if that was not bad enough, picked up a couple of others to join him. He felt some guilt over accepting his father’s praise for his successful quest without telling him that he had had help but he soothed his conscience by reminding himself that he would have succeeded by himself, if not for Merlin’s interference, and that they had also saved the city from Morgause.

If his father thought that it was a little too convenient that he had happened to run into Merlin and the four men on his way back from his quest, so that he had the help he needed to fight off Morgause and the Knights of Medhir, he had not commented on it… though Arthur was certain that he could thank Morgana for the fact that his father had not examined the issue more closely, given his panic when he learned how close she had come to dying, and that he would not have hesitated to send him on another quest if he believed that he had failed to meet the conditions set out. 

Instead, he praised him for saving the kingdom, calling it a blessing that he went on his quest at the right time, and was not there to fall prey to the sleeping spell when everybody else had.

Arthur would not have been able to lie to his father if he had asked him directly and was glad not to be questioned further.

He would have hated to see the pride shining in his father’s eyes turn to disappointment.

As soon as the dust settled after Morgause’s attack, the King and his Council began to make plans for Arthur’s investiture as Crown Prince, and his father was determined that this should be an event to remember. Arthur might be gaining his title later than the heirs to other kingdoms did but, unlike most princes, he had proven himself worthy of the honour that was about to be bestowed on him through his deeds, not just by being born the eldest son of a King.

As a rule, Arthur preferred to dress simply, scorning the finery of a prince in favour of a simple shirt and breeches, which were far more comfortable and far better for training but this occasion called for him to look the part of Prince of Camelot and, when a knock on his door let him know that it was time, he made his way from his chambers to the corridor outside the Great Hall, resplendent in a new tunic and cloak in red and gold, the Pendragon colours.

The corridor was deserted when he arrived, save for two sentries standing guard.

The guests had already been ushered into the Great Hall and Arthur could hear the murmur of voices, along with the occasional rustle of fabric as people tried to position themselves in a way that would give them the best view of the ceremony. With so many nobles in attendance, he was certain that it must have been a nightmare for his father’s Council and the steward to determine where each of them should be placed, knowing as they did that they could easily cause offence if one of the nobles felt that somebody of inferior rank had been more favourably placed.

A hush fell over the Great Hall as the sentries opened the heavy double doors to admit Arthur, with a fanfare of trumpets signalling that the ceremony could begin.

He slowly made his way down the length of the Hall, his head held high but he could not keep his gaze from flickering towards the far edges of the room, where the servants were lined in rows. 

Merlin was instantly recognisable, thanks to his feathered hat and gaudy cloak, but Arthur’s gaze was drawn to the woman at his side, who gave him a shy, encouraging smile as he passed her.

Like Merlin, Guinevere wore the official livery of the servants of Camelot - a rarity for her, as Morgana always allowed her to wear gowns of her own choosing when she attended on her in court - but Arthur hated to see it. It didn’t feel right for Guinevere to be dressed like the other servant women, in the same dull blue gown, with a stiff overtunic of Pendragon red, with a gold dragon embroidered on the breast, her hair scraped back under a tight red coif.

Guinevere was more than just a servant.

She had been a loyal friend to Morgana for years, and over the past year or so, she had become a friend to Arthur too, one he knew to be loyal to him and who he could trust to deal with him honestly, instead of flattering him because he was a King’s son while she was a blacksmith’s daughter. As well as that, he felt that, by all rights, she should be standing among the ladies of the court, rather than the servants, as befitted the sister of a Knight of Camelot.

He knew that it had been a great concession on his father’s part to agree to bestow knighthoods on Lancelot, Gwaine, Elyan and Percival as a reward for their part in saving Camelot from Morgause, one that he very probably would not have made, if not for the fact that Morgana had seconded Arthur’s request and his father had come too close to losing her to deny her anything, if it lay in his power to grant her request. The First Code of Camelot forbade the elevation of those who were not of noble birth, and he was certain that his father had had to listen to complaints from at least some of the lords on his Council, when he made it known that he intended to break the Code. The nobility guarded their privileges too jealously to willingly share them with commoners.

The compromise of granting the four men the titles and honours of a knight without conferring noble status on them made the situation more palatable for the lords on his father’s Council, and for other noble families, but it meant that Guinevere was not to be allowed to benefit from her brother’s elevation, as he had hoped she would. 

Her brother might be Sir Elyan, but she was not to be Lady Guinevere.

The worst part was that he could not even advocate that, as the sister of a knight, Guinevere should now be considered a lady of the court rather than being left to serve as a maidservant. Not only had his father gone as far as he would go, and further than he would have liked to go under other circumstances, he would want to know why Arthur was asking this of him, and he could not hope to make him understand why it meant so much to him to see Guinevere rank as a lady.

When he was King, he could confer the status of a noble on Elyan, and declare that this honour was to extend to his immediate kin, but it might be too late by then.

His father was not an old man but he would not want to wait much longer to see his only child married and his line secured.

For all Arthur knew, his father was now considering the question of which princess or great heiress would be a suitable choice as the future Crown Princess, perhaps even making discreet enquiries, and if that was the case, he might only be able to count on a few more months of freedom, as his father and hers haggled over the question of her dowry. 

God help him if his father intended to marry him to Morgana! 

He would have had to be deaf and blind to be unaware of the gossip that named her as the future Queen of Camelot, gossip that increased with each year that passed without his father marrying her off, despite receiving offers for her hand from at least several eligible noblemen. While it was true that he knew Morgana, which had to be at least a little better than being presented with a stranger and told that she was to be his wife, they had grown up together, and she was like his sister. They certainly quarreled as much as a brother and sister. He cared too much for Morgana to marry her when he loved her closest friend but this was not an excuse that his father would accept if he wished for them to marry. As Morgana’s guardian, he could consent to the match on her behalf, without any need for a delay. The next ceremony could be their wedding.

If it came to it, could he refuse his father’s command to marry?

His father was not a young man but he was not an old man either. 

He could easily live for another fifteen years or more, and the heir to the throne could not hope to remain a bachelor for half as long when it was his duty to secure the succession.

His father would never hear of him marrying a servant girl, no matter how beautiful and gracious and loyal and intelligent that servant girl might be, no matter how much his son might love her, and she him. Even if Arthur could delay his marriage by a year, two years or more, he would never be able to persuade his father to allow him to marry Guinevere.

When he was King, things would be different but he doubted that he could afford to wait so long.

He drove those dismal thoughts from his mind as he approached the dais, kneeling directly in front of his father, who stood, waiting for him.

His uncle, Lord Agravaine de Bois, caught his eye just before he reached the dais and Arthur could feel his mask of solemnity crack slightly, his lips curving into a smile at the sight of his mother’s brother, his only close kin still living, apart from his father. It was rare that he had the opportunity to speak to his uncle, who was one of the few people who was willing to speak to him about his mother, and the only person who could tell him about her life before she became Queen. He was determined to find at least a couple of hours to spend time with his uncle before he was obliged to return to his lands, no matter how many people might be clamoring for his attention.

Morgana was sitting in her customary chair, next to his father’s throne, and she gave him a slight smile as he approached, one he returned, despite the solemnity of the occasion.

He had been rehearsing the words he was meant to say for days and, though he had always sounded so stiff when he practiced them in the privacy of his chambers, either before a mirror or with Merlin as his audience, they flowed surprisingly naturally now.

Maybe it was that he was finally ready to speak them.

A servant stood next to his father, carrying a cushion on which a sceptre and a coronet were set, while another servant carried a long object, carefully wrapped in a silk covering so that it could not come in contact with the boy’s skin, that Arthur knew to be the Sword of King Bruta, an object that he had never been allowed to come so close to before now, no matter how much he pleaded with his father to bring him down to the vaults to see it when he was a young boy.

His father always refused, insisting that it was not a toy for a child to play with, and that he would be allowed to wield it when he was ready for it, not a moment before.

"Do you solemnly swear to govern the people of this kingdom and its dominions according to the statutes, laws and customs laid down by your forebears?" His father asked him solemnly, his voice even but pitched so that it could be heard by everybody in the Great Hall.

"I do, Sire."

"Do you promise to exercise mercy in your deeds and judgments?"

"I do, Sire." This was a vow that he was looking forward to being able to keep. His father was a great man and a strong King but his greatest flaw was that he showed no mercy to those who transgressed against his laws, particularly his laws against magic... even little children were sentenced to death and executed without mercy for using magic, when it was truly the fault of their parents and guardians for teaching them magic, despite knowing that it was forbidden in Camelot, and that their children faced execution if they were caught. 

"And do you swear allegiance to Camelot, now and for as long as you shall live?" 

His father took the Sword of King Bruta from the servant who held it - the boy visibly relaxed when he was relieved of his burden - and unwrapped the cloth, holding it high above his head so that it might be seen by everybody in the Great Hall. Arthur did not turn his head but he could hear the gasps from the assembled nobles, knights, commoners and servants, and see the expression of awe on Morgana's face as the dull, aged metal of the Sword transformed to gleaming silver at his father's touch, the stone at the hilt becoming a glowing crystal. He had only ever heard stories about what had happened when his father first wielded the Sword, proving that he was the true heir to the realm King Bruta had built, had never been allowed to see the effect for himself until today, and he could feel his eyes widen at the sight, and knew that he must look just as awed by the spectacle as Morgana, and everybody else in the Great Hall did.

As they had discussed, his father presented the Sword to him, hilt first, so that he might hold this relic of his ancestor as he made his final pledge.

"I, Arthur Pendra… Ahhh!" 

His words trailed off in a scream of agony as his hand closed around the hilt of the Sword. His father's eyes widened, the blade of the Sword falling from his numb hand as he stood, frozen in horror at the sight he was witnessing, and the terrible awareness of what it meant. Arthur's hands burned as though he was grasping a red hot poker, tendrils of smoke beginning to rise from the skin. It felt as though the flesh was being seared from the bones of his arms, with those bones shattering, the pain growing more intense with each heartbeat but he could not force his fingers to obey him, could not force himself to drop the Sword, despite his agony.

"Arthur!"

Through a haze of pain and eyes filled with tears that he could not keep from shedding, he saw Morgana dart from her throne to fling herself to her knees next to him, her soft, cool fingers working to loosen his hold of the Sword, to wrench it away from him before it could do him any further damage. He thought that he should shout at her to stop, that he should try to pull his hand, and the Sword, out of her reach before she too could experience the agony of contact with it and suffer as he was suffering but he could not make himself move an inch, and could not use his voice for anything but screaming out his agony, wailing wordless pleas for his pain to end.

When the Sword was wrenched from his grasp, the worst of the agony began to recede from his arm and wrist but his hand was on fire, the skin of his palm smouldering. When he forced himself to look down at it he saw, to his horror, that his hand was scarlet and blistered, the skin blackened at the edges of the burn, as though he had held a red-hot iron rather than a sword.

He was only dimly aware of the shocked exclamations around him, and of Morgana’s voice, which sounded so far away, urgently asking him if he was alright - how could she possibly think that he might be alright? - and calling out for Gaius to come to help him. Later, he would be surprised when Merlin told him that it all happened very quickly, in the space of a few moments, as it felt as though he was there for hours, hunched over on his knees, cradling his burning hand to his chest, raw sobs of agony coming in choking heaves, with Morgana’s arm circling him protectively. 

When his body accustomed itself to the pain enough to dull its sharpest edges and to allow his senses to clear enough for him to see and hear what was happening around him, he became aware of a deathly silence, save for Morgana’s voice and the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps, and he knew that every eye in the Great Hall was focused on him…

No…

Not on him…

It wasn’t until he stopped screaming that he realized that Morgana wasn’t… and _why_.

One of her arms was around him, her fingers rubbing his shoulder as though she was trying to warm him but her other hand was still wrapped loosely around the hilt of Sword.

The blade of the Sword was shining silver, the crystal in the hilt gleaming as white and bright as the light of the sun.


	3. Chapter Three

Uther stood frozen in place, numb with horror as he watched Arthur scream in agony, tendrils of grey smoke rising from his hand, where it clutched the hilt of the Sword. The sickening odour of burning flesh filled his nostrils and turned his stomach. Arthur knelt just a few feet away from him, doubled over in agony, but Uther couldn't make his limbs obey him, couldn't reach out to wrest the Sword from his hand before it could do him any further harm. When Morgana sprang from her chair by his side and flung herself down next to Arthur, he knew what it was she was doing and wanted to yell at her to stop, knowing that, once she touched the Sword, she would open a can of worms that could never be closed, but the only sound he could make was a choked, wordless cry.

It was happening just a few feet in front of him but he might as well have been at the back of the Great Hall, or miles away, for all the good he was able to do.

He watched Morgana pry the Sword from Arthur’s hand, one arm around his shoulders as she called for Gaius to help him. She still held the Sword in her free hand, her finger loosely wrapped around the hilt, seemingly unaware that she had not put it down. The silver gleam of the blade and the bright, white light emanating from the crystal in the hilt proclaimed her paternity to every lord and lady, knight and commoner in the Great Hall, though she herself seemed not to notice that she was able to hold the Sword without feeling pain, or put the pieces together about what it meant.

He could see in Arthur’s eyes the moment that he realised what it all meant, and watched him draw a quick, sudden breath, as though he had just been struck. His blue eyes… Ygraine’s eyes… betrayed his pain, anger and distress at the realisation, and they turned as cold as ice as he glanced in Morgana’s direction before looking up to meet Uther’s stricken gaze.

He wanted to say something to him but, even if he could have forced his voice to obey him, he had no idea what it was he could say.

When Morgana finally registered that she was still holding the Sword, that she felt no pain, and that it had transformed in her grasp much as it had when Uther held it, she didn’t look at him but he could see her shoulders slump as she exhaled sharply, as though the air was suddenly forced out of her lungs, and uttered a soft cry of mingled shock and dismay. She didn’t drop the Sword - if anything, she instinctively tightened her grip of the hilt - and knelt, frozen, at Arthur’s side.

He was no more able to move to offer her comfort, or even to say something to her, than he was to speak to or touch Arthur.

Despite his advanced age, Gaius was quick to cross the length of the Great Hall to reach Arthur’s side, gently turning over his hand to examine the burns. He frowned at the extent of the damage, moving to support Arthur as he helped him to his feet, and motioning for Morgana to do the same. “You must come with me so I can treat your injuries, sire,” he instructed in a low, firm voice that commanded obedience. “And you too, my lady,” he added to Morgana, who nodded wordlessly, rising to her feet and helping him support Arthur’s weight. Her face was paler than Uther had ever seen it and she seemed grateful to have Gaius take the lead, and even more grateful to be given an excuse to leave the Great Hall without being seen to run away.

Arthur’s servant boy trailed after them, looking as awkward and uncertain as Uther felt, and Morgana’s maid was quick to follow him.

It was just moment since Arthur slowly walked the length of the Great Hall in a solemn, triumphant march, his head held high and his expression solemn, with only the light in his eyes betraying his pleasure, to be confirmed as Crown Prince of Camelot before a crowd of watchful, admiring spectators. His second walk was also slow but it was awkward, as Arthur was in so much pain that he had to lean heavily on his two supporters to ensure that he did not fall over, and the atmosphere was one of defeat rather than triumph. There were no admiring murmurs about what a fine young man the Prince was, no young noblewomen gazing adoringly at him and whispering to their neighbour about how handsome he was. The Great Hall was as silent as a tomb, and people either looked away, as though they couldn’t bear to meet Arthur’s eyes, or openly stared at him as he passed, their expressions ranging from pitying to contemptuous.

It wasn’t until Gaius had led Arthur and Morgana away, and the great double doors swung shut behind them, that the silence was broken and, when it was, a babble of excited voices filled the air.

People didn’t seem able to decide which was more exciting; that the young man they had called their Prince now appeared to be a bastard, or that the girl they had thought of as the King’s ward, taken into his household because she was the daughter of his dear friend, was truly his daughter.

“Who would have thought it? Prince Arthur is a bastard!” One voice exclaimed, sounding quite delighted with the scandal, as though they could never have expected such excitement when they came to court and were pleased with the unexpected treat. "Though I suppose we shan't have to call him a Prince any longer, not when we know the truth about him." 

“Who fathered him? That’s what I’d like to know. What kind of man would bed the Queen and then let her fob his brat off on the King, and all of us, as the trueborn heir?” The disapproval in the voice was plain, and Uther could imagine the speaker’s eyes raking over the faces of every lord present who was of an age to have fathered Arthur, eager to spot any resemblance that would betray the blood tie. “Who among us could be so base as to betray the King?"

“Who’s to say that the father is of noble blood? The Prin… young Arthur is very thick with those commoner knights, isn’t he? Like calls to like. He may be as baseborn as they are, for all we know. A servant or castle guard might have fathered him.” The speaker evidently preferred not to accuse a fellow noble of having bedded the Queen, an act of treason punishable by death, finding the idea that the late Queen might have taken a commoner as her lover at least a little more palatable... or perhaps just a little more exciting. “Whoever it is could be long gone by now. They’d surely never dare to stay in Camelot, if they thought somebody might be able to see the likeness. If they are still here, they'll have been laughing at us all this time, watching us bow down to a servant's get!”

“I’d never have believed it of the Queen! She always seemed like a virtuous woman, and she seemed so in love with the King.” A softer voice this time, tinged with sorrow and regret at the thought that the Queen the speaker had loved and respected had evidently been an adulteress.

“She fooled us all. God alone knows how many lovers she slipped into her bed behind the King’s back! Perhaps even she didn’t know which of them fathered her bastard.”

“What a dreadful thing for the King! He loved the Queen so much. He must be so devastated to know that she tricked him into rearing another man’s brat.”

“What will happen now? Will Lady Morgana be the new heir?”

“She must be, surely. We all saw with our own eyes that she can wield King Bruta’s Sword, so she’s the true heir of his line.”

“Should we start to call her Princess Morgana, do you think?”

“At least the King has a child of his blood. If there was no heir, this kingdom would be torn apart once he was gone.” To their credit, the speaker recognized the threat to the kingdom if Uther had no heir to succeed him, leaving Camelot to the mercy of everyone who coveted her, and knew that this was far more important than malicious gossip about who might have fathered Arthur.

“Do you think that Lord Gorlois knew? He doted on her! I never saw a man worship a child as he did the Lady Morgana, especially not a girl.”

“I knew it all along,” a voice rang out, crowing in spiteful triumph. “He’s not like the King, not a feature, and Ygraine never fooled me, not for a moment. I knew that she was a sly one, for all that she pretended to be so sweet and virtuous. Butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth! It’s a wonder that she contented herself with saddling the King with just _one_ bastard, rather than a whole family of them, each with a different father. And if you ask me, the King had his suspicions too - that must be why he used the Sword of King Bruta for the investiture of the so-called Prince. He knew that, if Ygraine had managed to slip a cuckoo into his nest, it’d expose the boy for us all to see, and he’d never be able to take the throne from the King's true line.”

It was fortunate that he couldn’t recognise the last voice, or he would have had no qualms about ordering that the speaker be removed from the Great Hall and lodged in the dungeon for at least a few months for daring to utter such vile slanders in open court. The instinct to defend his beloved wife was strong, even if it was certain to make matters worse if he was seen to take offence on Ygraine’s behalf and to punish a noble for speaking against her.

As far as everybody present was concerned, she had betrayed him, and he should be the angriest of all over her adultery, furious at being tricked into raising a child that was not his.

Rather than worrying about how devastated his son must be, he would be expected to be relieved that Arthur was revealed not to be a true Pendragon before he could unwittingly leave the throne to another man's son, especially now that they knew that he had a daughter who had clearly proven her paternity to all present. They would expect him to be furious with Ygraine and with Arthur, as though he had had any say over the circumstances of his birth but, if they hoped to see him turn against his son, banishing Arthur from his life, he was going to disappoint them.

It might have been a little easier for him if he could believe that he was betrayed, much as it would have hurt him to think that Ygraine might be capable of doing that to him, but Uther couldn’t even pretend to believe that there was a chance that she had taken another man to her bed. Arthur was not his son by blood but he still knew that his choices had brought him into the world. He knew what had happened, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place with terrible clarity, and he knew that, though he could never say so, _he_ was the one to blame for this… him and Nimueh.

Ygraine was innocent, yet she was the one being called a whore and everybody expected him to share their fury and indignation over her supposed adultery, lamenting that she had died before he learned the truth and could send her to the scaffold for betraying him.

Agravaine, who might reasonably have been expected to either object to the slurs being attached to the names of his sister and his nephew, neither of whom were present to defend themselves, or to look shame-faced at the revelation that his sister had apparently betrayed her husband and duped him into raising another man’s child as his son and heir, did not say a word and was the only person in the Great Hall who seemed calm. His expression was placid as he listened to people call his nephew a bastard and feverishly speculate about which man, or _men_ , his sister might have taken to her bed while she played the part of a loving, devoted wife and Queen, betraying her husband and his kingdom to sate her lust.

His face was unsmiling but, when he met Uther’s gaze, there was a tiny gleam of satisfaction in his eyes, which told Uther that, not only was his brother-in-law not particularly surprised about this revelation, it did not dismay him in the least. His satisfaction at Uther’s distress far outweighed any concern that he might have for the welfare of his sister’s only child, the boy he had always made such a fuss of, wanting to cultivate his affections and using his sister’s name to carve a place in Arthur’s heart for himself, in the hope that he might one day benefit from it.

Agravaine had known, Uther realized, feeling a shudder of fear and revulsion course through him at the memory of how Arthur used to run to greet this man whenever he visited Camelot. It meant so much to the boy to have somebody who could share stories about his mother with him and he eagerly latched onto his uncle as a link to her and all this time, Agravaine had carried a secret that he knew would have devastated Arthur, waiting for the moment to wield his knowledge as a weapon, willing to wound his nephew if it meant that he could also hurt Uther.

Tristan must have told his brother of the magic that had given Arthur life, and of how their sister’s life was stolen from her so that her son might live, before he went to challenge Uther to a duel to the death. Tristan was devoted to his sister, willing to lay down his life to avenge her, and probably believed that Agravaine felt the same way, so he told his brother what had happened, trusting that, if he lost the duel, Agravaine would be the next one to challenge Uther, to ensure that he was made to suffer for having gained a son through his wife’s death.

For all his faults, Tristan was a man of honour, and he would not have understood that Agravaine would challenge Uther directly, no matter what the cause might be.

Agravaine would have known that he would never have a hope of winning a duel, and would have had no intention of sacrificing himself for his sister’s sake, no matter what he might have promised his brother when he was told that Uther had allowed magic to be used so that Ygraine might give him a son, and that that same magic had led to her death.

Tristan’s loyalty was to the de Bois family and to Ygraine in particular. He wouldn’t hesitate to risk his life rather than allow the man he blamed for her death escape punishment for his actions.

Agravaine’s loyalty, on the other hand, was to himself, and he took no risks unless he had something to gain by doing so. Instead of challenging Uther, he was content to watch and wait, hoarding his knowledge, waiting for the opportunity to harm Uther when there was no risk to his own neck. Perhaps he had intended to make it known that Uther had used magic to give him a son, encouraging the nobility to view him as a hypocrite for fighting to stamp out the magic that he was all too willing to use when he thought that he had something to gain by it, and even casting doubt over whether or not Arthur was fit to inherit the throne, arguing that his was a life that was never meant to be, and that he was tainted by the magic used to give him life.

Even Agravaine could never have imagined that he would be able to see such a calamity befall Uther, without him having to have a hand in it.

One of the men assigned a place few rows back from the dais surged forward to come face to face with Uther, flecks of spittle flying from his mouth and his face turning almost purple with rage as he ranted about deception, corruption, adultery, usurpation and the great injustice of a bastard being allowed to claim an inheritance that belonged to somebody else by rights.

It took a moment for Uther to realise that the man referred to Morgana, not Arthur.

Sir Cador, a cousin of Gorlois, had never forgiven his kinsman for leaving his lands in Cornwall to Morgana, rather than exercising his prerogative to pass over a female child in favour of his nearest male relative. His argument that, as Gorlois’ closest kinsman, he was the most appropriate guardian for his cousin’s orphaned daughter was outweighed by the fact that the King of Camelot also laid claim to Morgana as his ward, backed up by Gorlois’ stated wish that Uther should care for her if anything happened to him. Deprived of custody of the heiress to Cornwall, and thereby left unable to secure the lands to his line by marrying her off to his son when she was barely out of childhood, before she could meet any other suitable candidates for her hand, Sir Cador was left to act as steward of his cousin’s vast estates, knowing that, as soon as Morgana married, or chose to leave Camelot to take her place as Lady of Cornwall, he would be obliged to leave.

While others were reeling at the revelation that Arthur was illegitimate, Sir Cador’s focus was on Morgana’s true paternity, and what it meant for him and his claim to be Lord of Cornwall.

Sir Cador’s angry accusations that Uther had deliberately sought to deprive him of his rightful inheritance in order to provide for his illegitimate daughter at the expense of the House of Gorlois and its true heirs were loud enough to be heard over the din, loud enough to distract at least some of those present from their own eager speculation about Arthur and Ygraine. The man seemed unable to decide whether Uther had deceived Gorlois into thinking Morgana his daughter or whether Gorlois had known but was forced to name Morgana his heir, cheating his cousin of his due. He accused him of both, his voice growing progressively louder and more grating.

“Enough!” Uther did not speak as loudly as Sir Cador but the clear ring of authority in his voice was enough to silence the man, along with everybody else in the Great Hall, who looked up from their own conversations to regard their King with wide, wary eyes. Sir Cador shut his mouth abruptly, seeming to realise that, regardless of how justified he might think his complaint, it was unwise for him to presume to publicly take his sovereign to task. He hastily stepped back. “The ceremony is over,” Uther declared, managing to keep his voice strong and even, knowing that any hint of distress or anger would be noted and that it would only serve to fuel the already rampant gossip. “You will clear the Great Hall, and go to the dining hall, where your meal will be served shortly.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Master Varric immediately begin to issue instructions to the assembled servants, and knew that he could leave the feast in his steward’s capable hands.

Given the choice, he would have preferred to order that the guests return to their quarters - or, even better, that they should return to their homes, now that it was clear that the ceremony for which they had come to Camelot would not be taking place - but that would be unwise. He knew that, once they were all seated for the feast, it would make no difference how sumptuous the food, or how engaging the entertainment was. Nothing would distract them from what they had seen, or keep them from debating every aspect of the event, and what it meant for Camelot. Better that they should talk it over to their hearts’ content when he was not present to hear what they had to say. Even a King’s command would not keep them from debating the issue until they finally tired of it, so it was best to leave them to their sordid gossip for the moment.

Come morning, he would have to deal with this but it would be in a meeting with his Council, not before an audience of curious nobles.

At first, the noble guests were hesitant to move, as though they feared that they might miss something if they were too quick to follow his order to make their way to the dining hall. However, once it was clear that Uther had said all he meant to say, at least for the moment, they grudgingly began to clear the Great Hall, those unfamiliar with the castle following the lead of those to whom it was home. Uther did not see Agravaine slip away but, when he looked to the spot where the man had been standing, he saw that he was gone. Sir Cador was one of the last to leave, moving slowly and reluctantly as he removed himself from Uther’s sight, but the set of his jaw and the determined gleam in his eyes made it very clear that he had no intention of letting this matter die. Uther estimated that the man would seek out an audience with him by mid-morning, at the very latest, and that he would demand to be installed as Lord of Cornwall before the day was out. He did not relish the prospect but the delay would give him time to decide what he was going to do.

Once the Great Hall was cleared, he stood there for a few moments, surveying the magnificent chamber, and all of the decorations that had been set up in honour of the occasion.

Today was supposed to be a day of triumph for him and for Arthur.

Today was supposed to be the day that he would present his people and, through their envoys, his fellow monarchs with the man who would be Camelot’s next King, a man who would be a strong ruler when he was gone, defending the realm from any who sought to threaten it. Today was to be the day when he proved to Arthur that no father could be prouder of his son than he was, and that he had no reservations about leaving his kingdom in his hands, when the time came.

But instead of being honoured as Crown Prince, Arthur’s new title in the eyes of the court was that of ‘Bastard’.

It no longer mattered to the nobles that he had saved the kingdom or that he had succeeded in his quest to recover the legendary trident of the Fisher King. The Sword had proven that he was no descendant of King Bruta and thus no Pendragon, and that was what mattered to them.

He didn’t know how he could face Arthur, and Morgana… he had no idea what he could say to her or what he could expect when he saw her.

Would she be furious with him for having cuckolded Gorlois and devastated to learn that she was not the daughter of the man she loved as her father? Would she be angry or, worse, hurt that he had never claimed her as his child and raised her as a Princess of Camelot? Would she guess that a large part of the reason why he had never claimed her was that he feared the risk to Arthur’s safe ascension to the throne if it was known that he had a sibling? If so, would she be jealous, or would she take some consolation in the fact that the truth was exposed?

There was a part of him that wanted nothing more than to retreat to his quarters, to refuse to see anybody and to relay orders through his Council that those who had come to court to witness Arthur’s investiture were to leave at once, and to avoid Arthur and Morgana as long as he could.

It was tempting to think that he might hide from the consequences of the revelation, at least for a while, to give himself time to come to terms with everything before he had to face the world but he knew that he could not be so selfish or so cowardly as to avoid reality, to avoid his _children_.

He had no right to put himself first.

He would face his children now, listen to what they had to say, answer any questions they had and explain himself to them as best he could.

He owed them no less.

* * *

The journey to the physician’s quarters was longer than Gaius would have liked.

The burn on Arthur’s hand was a bad one, one of the worst that Gaius had ever seen, and he knew from experience that, if he did not act quickly, the damage would only get worse. Arthur’s flesh was still cooking beneath his blistered skin and the longer he went without medical treatment, the greater the risk that he would never again be able to wield a sword. One boy, an apprentice to the royal blacksmith, had lost the use of his hand due to an accident in the forge and the image of his thin, white face, drawn with pain, his lower lip bitten bloody in an attempt to keep from crying out, came to mind as he hurried Arthur through the corridors.

The faint sound of a blade scraping the stone floor followed them as they walked.

Morgana seemed to be the only one who was unaware that she still held the Sword in the hand that was not helping to support Arthur’s weight, the tip of the blade dragged along the floor as she walked. Merlin and Guinevere, now all too aware of the threat posed by the Sword if it came into contact with anybody not descended from its owner, gave both it and her a wide berth, walking a few yards behind, though Gaius knew that Merlin must want to be by Arthur’s side.

If the anxious expression on Guinevere’s face was an indication, she too was eager to help, in any way she could though, while Merlin was focused on Arthur, so much so that Gaius could feel his worried gaze on him and almost hear Merlin’s voice in his head, urging him to hurry to the physician’s quarters and his medicines, Guinevere was concerned about both Arthur and Morgana.

When they finally reached the physician’s quarters, Arthur sank gratefully down on the nearest bench, a low moan of pain escaping his lips, despite his efforts to remain stoic.

Gaius took the injured hand in his, examining it carefully and probing it gently, wincing at Arthur’s involuntary cry of pain. To his relief, the skin was badly blistered but not blackened, as the hand of the blacksmith’s apprentice was, so he was optimistic that, with the proper treatment, he would be able to ensure that Arthur made a full recovery, which was a great relief to him.

The poor boy had lost a great deal already without losing the use of his hand into the bargain.

Had Morgana not acted as quickly as she had, the damage would be much worse.

Merlin might be no physician but, after two years working with Gaius, he knew his way around the physician’s quarters and had no difficulty finding the plants and materials as Gaius called them out, laying them in a row on the bench in front of Arthur. Guinevere filled a bowl with cold water and placed in front of Gaius, as he mixed a cooling poultice for Arthur’s hand. She then stood back to give him room to work, knowing that, as anxious as she was to be by Arthur's side, Gaius and Merlin were better able to give him the help he needed and she would only serve to distract them from their work if she stood too close. Once she and Gaius had deposited Arthur on the bench, Morgana hovered, watching the proceedings with wide eyes but taking little of it in.

“There, sire,” Gaius said in a calm, reassuring voice, as he smoothed the poultice over Arthur’s burned hand and then wrapped a linen bandage around it to secure the poultice and protect the wound from dirt and further injury. “Are you hurt anywhere else?” He couldn’t see any other injuries but he was not prepared to rule out the possibility that Arthur’s hand was just one of a number of injuries. The destructive magic of the Sword of King Bruta shocked him, though he was aware of the legends that those who touched it without the right to do so would soon be given cause to regret their folly. He was not going to make the mistake of assuming that the damage it could do was limited to a burn on the hand, though that was bad enough. He could only hope that, if there was more damage, it would lie within his ability to heal it. If Arthur was injured internally… A gleam of silver caught his eye, reminding him that Morgana still held the Sword. “Put the Sword down on the bench, Morgana - no, not that one,” he said, more sharply than he had intended, when he saw her move to lay the Sword down on the far end of the bench he and Arthur were using. “The one in the far corner.” The last thing they needed was for one of them to accidentally brush against it and fall victim to its magic.

Morgana obeyed him without a word, laying the Sword on the bench Gaius had indicated. It seemed to him that she was a little reluctant to let it go. Once it was safely out of her hand, Guinevere crossed the room to put an arm around her shoulder’s and guided her back towards the bench and gently pushed her down to sit down opposite Arthur.

“Are you hurt anywhere else, Sire?” Gaius repeated his question when Arthur didn’t answer. Arthur shook his head but wouldn’t meet his eyes. His gaze was fixed on his bandaged hand. “The damage looks a great deal worse than it is, sire,” he said gently, able to imagine how horrifying the thought of never again being able to wield a sword would be for Arthur, who prided himself on his skill as a warrior, and not without justification. “The poultice will cool the burn and, if we take care to keep applying it, and to keep the wound clear from infection, your hand will heal in time. There may not even be much of a scar.” He caught Merlin’s eye at this and could guess what the boy was thinking, knowing that, if Merlin thought that there was no other way to help Arthur, he might go so far as to use magic to try to heal him and that was something he could not allow him to do, especially when it was very likely to heal naturally. He was confident that his skill as a physician would be equal to the task and, even if it was not, it was too risky for Merlin to use his magic and risk detection. Better that Arthur should be left with a scar, even if it meant that he would no longer be able to wield a sword as skillfully, than that Uther should learn about Merlin's magic.

“Thank you, Gaius,” Arthur said woodenly, still unable to take his eyes off his hand, despite the reassurance that it would heal.

Gaius indicated one of the cupboards with a nod of his head and Merlin, taking his meaning, hurried to fetch one of the bottles that were stored in it. He rarely indulged in wine, as a physician must always keep a clear head and could never know when an emergency might require his services, but he made a point of keeping a couple of bottles on hand. If the occasion called for it, it was a quick and reasonably effective means of dulling the pain of a wound and it could also be used to clean his instruments in an emergency, when there was no time to boil water. Without needing to be told what Gaius wanted from him, Merlin half-filled two cups with wine, stirring a couple of spoonfuls of honey into each and setting them in front of Arthur and Morgana.

Arthur bolted his in one gulp, muttering his thanks as if by rote, without looking at Merlin.

Morgana sipped at hers silently, her eyes wide and unseeing.

Neither of them heard the heavy tread of approaching footsteps in the corridor outside the physician’s quarters, and they barely noticed Uther’s arrival. Neither would look at him.

“Leave us,” Uther ordered Guinevere brusquely as soon as he entered the room, not wanting more of an audience for what he knew would be an uncomfortable conversation than was absolutely necessary. The last thing he needed or wanted was to have servants spreading rumours about what they heard, either to their fellow servants or to the nobles who would be only too glad to pay handsomely for fresh information. “You too, boy,” he added to Merlin, whose attempt to remain inconspicuous by backing into the shadows by the cupboard failed miserably.

As much as Merlin wanted to stay with Arthur, he knew better than to argue with the King, especially when the grim expression on his face made it very clear that he was in no mood to tolerate anything less than complete obedience. He would have stayed in the corridor outside the room, so that he might listen to what was said and know where he stood, but Guinevere gave him a small smile, beckoning for him to join her, which meant that this was not an option for him. He knew better than to think that he would be able to persuade her to join him in eavesdropping and, even if she was willing, he knew that it wouldn’t be fair for him to risk getting her into trouble too.

Uther waited until the two servants left the room and the sound of their retreating footsteps faded before he beckoning Gaius over to where he stood by the doorway, far enough away from the younger two to be out of earshot if they kept their voices low.

“How is Arthur’s hand?” he asked quietly, anxious to hear of the extent of the damage. He was very familiar with the legends about the effect the Sword of King Bruta would have on somebody who was not of his bloodline but who presumed to touch his Sword, and had used those legends to his advantage when he claimed the right to rule Camelot, by blood as well as by conquest. He just never expected his son to fall victim to its magic.

“I believe that it will heal, sire,” Gaius reported. “I have applied a poultice and, with proper care, the Prince should make a full recovery.” He used Arthur’s title deliberately, his eyes narrowing in disapproval, despite knowing that Uther could easily take offence at his manner, despite their long friendship, and that he might find himself condemned to a spell in the dungeons, if not banished from the city. “He has had a shock, and will need you to tell him of his birth.”

With hindsight, he realised that he should not be unduly surprised by the revelation that Arthur was not descended from King Bruta, and therefore did not share blood with Uther.

He had studied magic in his youth but he possessed little natural talent and had therefore not been deemed worthy of learning some of the lessons the priestesses could offer. They preferred to pass their most closely guarded knowledge on to female initiates and a male must content himself with the simpler magic they were prepared to teach him.

He had, however, learned a very important lesson about magic, perhaps the most important of all: Magic was a powerful and often unpredictable force, one that might be tamed by those powerful enough to wield it but that could never be fully controlled. Magic was no mere tool to be used according to the whim of a sorcerer, and those who made the mistake of thinking that they had it completely under their control soon learned the volatile nature of the force they tampered with. It was a lesson that Uther had learned, to his cost, when Ygraine was snatched away from him in payment for the baby boy brought into the world by the use of magic, and now he was learning that that was not the only nasty surprise that magic had lying in wait for him.

He asked Nimueh to use her magic so that Ygraine could bear a son, and that was what she did.

Arthur was born of magic.

Nimueh's magic had given him life in Ygraine's empty womb, without the need for a man's seed.

Uther’s blood did not flow in Arthur's veins because he had no mortal father.

A few months ago, Merlin told him of the apparition of Ygraine that Morgause had conjured for Arthur, and which had told him that he was born of magic, and that his mother’s life was sacrificed so that he might be born. Gaius truly believed that Arthur would have killed Uther had Merlin not been able to persuade him that Morgause was lying.

It was difficult and painful for Merlin to give up what he knew to be a chance to help Arthur see that magic could be a force for good as well as for evil, depending on the intentions of the one who wielded it, and that, as he was born of magic, he should count those with magic as his kin rather than his enemies. Even now, Gaius was certain that his ward must wonder how different things might have been had he not interfered but he knew, as Gaius did, that Arthur would soon have been tormented by guilt at having his father’s blood on his hands. It was also very likely that Arthur’s claim to the throne would not be accepted, if he had his father’s blood on his hands. No monarch or noble would want his son to think that he could kill his sire without consequences.

Arthur was persuaded that Morgause was lying and that the apparition of Ygraine was just a trick devised in order to turn him against his father but, in light of what had happened this evening, he was now faced with just two alternatives, neither of them palatable.

If his father had not lied to him when he denied Morgause’s account of the circumstances of his birth, if his mother’s death had not been the price exacted for his birth, then there was only one other possibility he could entertain; that the mother he loved and whose memory he had revered since he was a small child had betrayed his father, and that he was the son of her lover, a living reminder of the fact that the woman his father loved so dearly and mourned so deeply had not been worthy of his love or his grief, any more than she was worthy of the reverence of the people of Camelot, who had cherished the memory of their kind and beautiful Queen.

Gaius considered Uther a friend and was loyal to him but he knew that there was no way that he could allow Arthur to be left to think his mother a harlot and himself the product of her betrayal.

If Uther would not tell him the truth, he would.

Uther nodded, as though he could guess what Gaius was thinking. “I will tell him of his birth. You were right, I should have told him,” he remarked in a low voice, remembering what Gaius had advised him the previous year, when the feast in honour of Arthur’s coming of age was interrupted by the resurrected Tristan de Bois, and Gaius had urged him to tell Arthur the truth about the circumstances of his birth, pointing out that he was an adult and should know. Had he been able to bear the prospect of his son’s anger at the thought that his father, who made sure that he knew of the evils of sorcery as soon as he was old enough to comprehend the concept of evil, had willingly courted the help of the very thing he despised, he would not have to face him with the truth now.

Gaius said nothing but he inclined his head in a slight nod.

“And Morgana?” Uther cast a worried glance towards his daughter, who was so pale and so still that it frightened him to see her in that state. He never would have imagined that a day would come when he would long for her to argue with him, even berate him when they disagreed.

“She’s had a shock. She deserved better than to find out like this.” Knowing that his presence would not be welcomed, Gaius said no more, leaving the room to give them privacy.

Morgana glanced up at the sound of her name, her gaze focusing on Uther. “You’re my father.” Her voice was soft but, to Uther’s relief, not angry or condemnatory. “How?”

Arthur’s snort of derision cut through the stillness of the room. “How do you think?”

“There’s no need for that, Arthur.” As dismayed and troubled as he was by the bitterness in Arthur’s tone, Uther couldn’t make himself chide him too harshly, not after today’s revelation. He walked over to the bench to stand next to Morgana, waiting for her to nod her assent before he sat down next to her. This story would not be an easy one for him to tell but it was not as bad as the one that he would have to tell Arthur. “It was while Gorlois was away, fighting on the Northern Plains,” he began. “He brought virtually all of his men at arms into battle with him, so there were not enough of them left to defend Tintagel in case of attack. For her safety, Vivienne stayed in Camelot while Gorlois was away. She grew lonely and…” he trailed off, finding the prospect of going into greater detail around his children, particularly his daughter, deeply uncomfortable.

“You kept one another company?” Arthur finished bitterly.

“We were both lonely,” Uther said simply. “It was just over a year since Ygraine died and I had no wish to remarry but it was so hard to be alone for so long. Gorlois was away for months, and there were very few messages from him. It was one night, and Vivienne and I found solace together. I never wanted to hurt Gorlois. He was the truest friend a man could have, and I owed him my life a hundred times over, but I don’t regret what Vivienne and I did.” He reached out towards Morgana with a tentative hand and felt a heavy lump forming in his throat when she flinched away from his touch. No matter how much he hated himself for wronging Gorlois, he could never regret the act that brought his daughter into the world.

“And my father… Gorlois… did he know?” The pain in her voice at the thought that the man who had raised and loved her was not her father was audible.

“Gorlois knew from the beginning,” Uther told her. “You were born barely seven months after he returned from battle. He couldn’t help but know that he hadn’t fathered you but he loved you from the moment you were born. Vivienne told him what we had done but he chose to stay with her, to raise you as his own and to put what happened behind them.”

“And you were willing to let him,” Morgana said accusingly. “It was easier for you that way.”

“Yes,” he responded honestly. “It was easier to let everybody believe that Gorlois was your father.”

He wouldn’t deny that it was a relief to him when Gorlois, angry as he was over his betrayal, told him of his intention to stay married to Vivienne rather than casting her aside as an adulteress, as he would have been well within his rights to do, and to raise his wife’s baby as his own, when no man would have blamed him for refusing to have another man’s child under his roof. Had Gorlois not been willing to do so, there was no question but that Uther would have claimed Morgana. He would never have left her alone in the world and, had he not trusted that Gorlois would love her as his own, he would not have left her in his charge. He probably would also have married Vivienne if Gorlois set her aside, for their daughter’s sake, but he had not relished the idea of remarrying. As lonely as he was without Ygraine, he had no wish to see another woman sitting in her place, and he knew that no woman could hope to fill the void she had left in his life. It was easier to let Gorlois bring his wife back to Tintagel and, while he regretted not having his daughter with him, he couldn't deny that he rested a little easier knowing that Arthur was recognised as the sole heir to the throne, without having to worry that the man Morgana married might aim to seize the crown.

Morgana didn’t say anything by way of response but her brow creased in an angry, unhappy scowl.

“Whether he wanted to or not, he has no choice but to acknowledge you now,” Arthur observed in a cutting tone. His eyes were full of hostility as they met Uther’s, and his heart ached to see such anger and hatred in those blue eyes that were Arthur’s inheritance from his mother. “Everybody saw you take the Sword, and nothing like _this_ happened to you.” He lifted his bandaged hand from the bench. “He has no hope of getting away with disowning you after that.”

“And I don’t want to,” Uther cut in hastily. “You are my daughter and I will not deny it.”

“And your new heir,” Arthur said bitterly. His uninjured hand was clenched in a tight fist, as though he wanted to strike somebody. He locked his gaze with both of theirs in turn. “She is your only child, _my lord_ ,” he laid a pointed stress on the honourific. “Who will deny that the King’s bastard daughter has more of a claim to his throne than the Queen’s bastard son?”

“You’re not a…”

“I am,” Arthur cut him off before he could argue against his choice of term or dispute that the revelation about Morgana’s paternity was likely to lead to a change to the succession. “Hundreds of people just saw me prove that I’m no Pendragon, so what else can they call me but a bastard? What else can they call my mother but an adulteress?” He didn’t wait for Uther to answer. “They all think that my mother betrayed you but we both know that that’s not true, don’t we, my lord? You lied to me! That really was my mother, and she was telling the truth! Did you know?” He asked Morgana, not expecting or wanting an answer. “Of course you didn’t. He never wanted to let anybody know what he did. What would his people think of him if they knew that their King used magic to make his wife bear him a son? But you weren’t as clever as you thought you were, were you? Maybe when you wished for a son, you should have wished for one who was _yours_.”

“You used magic?” Morgana’s eyes were wide and she stared at Uther, as though she was seeing him for the first time.

“There was a sorceress; Nimueh. At the time, I believed that she was my friend and I asked her for help.” Uther said shortly, wishing that Arthur had refrained from speaking of the apparition of his mother. He and Morgana had clashed on the subject of magic since she was old enough to understand his laws on the subject, and the punishment for those who broke them. Even Arthur had disagreed with him at times, making cases for clemency for those who seemed harmless. Neither of them could understand the true danger of magic, and how those who seemed harmless, even helpful, could be even more dangerous than open aggressors, just as neither of them could truly understand the position he was in, and why Nimueh’s magic seemed like the only solution. They grew up in an established kingdom, with a stable succession, and didn’t know what it was like before Arthur was born. “Ygraine and I were married for nearly five years, with no sign that we would have a child. Without an heir, this kingdom was vulnerable, and would have fallen apart once I was gone. I had a duty to Camelot to father an heir.”

“Why didn’t you remarry?” Morgana asked, curiousity and a hint of something else - resentment? anger? jealousy? - colouring her voice. “The law allows a barren wife to be set aside, doesn’t it?”

For a long moment, Uther could only stare at her, unable to speak.

During the first year or so of his marriage to Ygraine, the courtiers watched her avidly, hoping to see a sign that she carried a royal child, but nobody was unduly worried at that point. When the second year of their marriage, and then the third, passed without any hint that the empty royal nursery would soon boast an inhabitant, the sympathetic, optimistic platitudes voiced by the courtiers turned to murmurs of concern, impatience and discontent. He was not the only one who knew how vulnerable Camelot would be until there was at least one royal child in the nursery, and hints began to be dropped that the Queen might be incapable of bearing children. By the fourth anniversary of their marriage, the bravest members of his Council risked his wrath by privately urging him to consider setting Ygraine aside and finding another lady to be his Queen. By their fifth anniversary, virtually every lord shared that opinion, arguing that Ygraine had failed in her duty and must step aside, to allow another lady to succeed where she had failed.

Good-natured jokes that the Prince of Camelot was keeping his subjects waiting so that they would appreciate him all the more when he finally arrived turned to fear for the future of the realm, and sympathy for a Queen whose hopes of a child took longer than usual to be fulfilled turned to contempt for a barren woman who would not see that it was time for her to leave.

It was so easy for Morgana to ask why he had not set Ygraine aside, just as it was so easy for his Council and the nobility to tell themselves that he should put the needs of his country first but they had not been faced with that choice, and couldn’t understand just how much it pained him.

He knew that it was his duty to give his kingdom an heir, and that the welfare of his kingdom should be more important to him than the happiness of one woman but he loved his wife too much to let her go. He wasn’t even able to bring himself to broach the idea with her, knowing that she was already heartbroken over their childlessness and believed that she had failed Camelot.

Even for his kingdom, he could not bear to inflict such pain on Ygraine, any more than he could bear to part with her.

Despite his instinctive distrust of magic, and his awareness of how dangerous it could be in the hands of one who was ignorant of its true nature or who meant to use it to do harm, seeking Nimueh’s help seemed like the lesser of two evils. It was the only way that he could do his duty by his kingdom without having to cast a beloved wife aside, breaking every vow he had made to himself and to her that he would always love and cherish her, no matter what happened. 

When Nimueh assured him that she had the power to do as he asked, he blessed her for it and would have given her anything she asked by way of a reward. 

When he walked through the castle with Ygraine on his arm, knowing that all eyes were on her swollen belly, and that those who had condemned her for her barrenness and whispered that she should be cast aside had to eat their words, it seemed that all would be well for them.

How wrong he was!

He didn’t want to tell Morgana that his love for Ygraine had prompted him to use magic rather than cast her aside, as another man in his position would have, in case she took offence on her mother’s behalf, angry to think that he had loved Ygraine with such passion yet was able to see Vivienne return to her marriage to Gorlois, as though their night together had never happened, without feeling a pang of regret. Vivienne was no more to him than the mother of his daughter.

“I couldn’t be certain that the fault lay with Ygraine,” he said, for want of a better explanation. Even as he said it, he knew that it was a feeble excuse. More often than not, in cases such as his, it was the woman who was barren. No man would accept that he was incapable of fathering a child until at least his second, if not third, marriage did not result in the birth of a child, and it was expected that a man should try again, with another woman, before he gave up hope. His Council would never have accepted it if he had decided to assume that the fault was his, and stay with Ygraine. “If fault was mine, then it would have done me no good to set her aside.” 

He knew that he would the never have been able to think of Ygraine without feeling guilty if he set her aside and took another lady to wife, and was unable to have a child by his second Queen. As painful as it would have been for both of them to have to part, and as much as it would have hurt Ygraine to see another woman bear him the children she could not give him, it would have been much, much worse if he set her aside and found that it was all for nothing.

“It’s a pity that you did not betray my mother sooner,” Arthur observed sarcastically. “If you had Morgana first - or some other child, by some other woman - then you would have known where the blame truly lay.”

“I did not betray your mother!” Uther understood that Arthur was angry and hurt, and was prepared to allow him a great deal of latitude as a result, but he could not let this pass. “Your mother was dead over a year and Vivienne was the only woman I was with for over twenty years!”

“But if you had known for certain that you were not to blame, if you knew that you had a child out there, you wouldn’t have used magic to have a son with my mother… especially if you knew that that son wouldn’t even be of your blood, and what it would cost you,” Arthur persisted.

Uther could not deny it.

Had he known the price that magic would exact in exchange for giving him a son by Ygraine, he would never have agreed to it, just as he would never have sought out Nimueh’s help had he known that she could only give him a son who was born of magic, not a son of his blood. Even if he had not known, he would still have shrank from the idea of using magic, even if he believed that Nimueh was a friend, when there was an alternative. If he could not bring himself to cast Ygraine aside, he could still exercise the right to claim his child by another woman as his heir.

It would not have been ideal, but they could have made it work. Ygraine had such a loving heart; she would not have been able to close it to a child.

“Congratulations, Morgana,” Arthur said bitterly, rising from the bench and inclining his head in a slight, mocking bow. “You’ll be the new Crown Princess. If you hurry up with your investiture, the decorations from today will still be there. It’d be a shame to see them go to waste, or for so many people to have travelled so far without giving them a proper ceremony, don’t you think?”

“Arthur, I never wanted to take anything from you!” Morgana protested, hurt by his attitude. All she wanted was to keep him from being hurt, not to add to his pain, however unintentionally.

“But you will,” Arthur said, as though there could be no disputing the fact. “You’ll have Camelot. It won’t want me now.” He didn’t bother to ask permission before leaving the room, not caring if Uther took offence. He stormed out, slamming the door shut behind him.

Uther sighed, knowing that he could not have expected Arthur to take the revelation, or what it would mean for his future any better than he had. Only time could help him come to terms with what had happened, and help him see that, though he could no longer be the Prince, Camelot would always be his home and there would always be a place for him in it.

“You and I need to talk, Morgana,” he said gently, before she too could run away. “There are things that will need to be worked out.”

The issue of the succession, first and foremost.

She was his daughter and, as such, had a claim to his throne, in the absence of a son. With Arthur barred from the throne, there was no other potential heir but he would have to formally declare her his heir in order to ensure that her right to the throne would not be disputed. He doubted that there would be any objections, the Sword had seen to that, but the legalities must be observed.

They would also have Sir Cador to deal with. The man might have subsided for the moment but he would never willingly leave Camelot before the issue of who had the rightful claim to Cornwall was decided in his favour. He would give orders that Cador was not to dare to approach Morgana directly but that would not keep him from troubling her for long, not when he believed her to be in possession of his rightful inheritance. It would simplify matters if Morgana renounced her claim, sparing them a dispute over Cornwall in which every courtier would take sides, but Gorlois had willingly named her his heiress, knowing her true parentage, so the decision must be hers alone. 

“I know,” Morgana said, “but not now. I can’t talk about this now. Excuse me, my lord.” Without waiting for permission, or giving him a chance to say anything, she fled the room.

His elbows on the bench, Uther rested his head in his cupped hands, feeling weary, and ten years older than he had that morning, when he woke expecting a proud, joyous day.

It took only a moment for his world to change and things could never again be as they were.

* * *

_“Merlin… Merlin… Merlin! MERLIN!”_

The call of the Great Dragon became progressively louder and more insistent the longer Merlin ignored him, until he was bellowing in his mind, demanding that he come to him.

Merlin steadfastly ignored the calls. He knew that he would eventually have to pay a visit to the cavern beneath the castle where the Great Dragon was held prisoner, and when he did, he would have questions of his own to ask, but the Great Dragon would have to wait, whether he liked it or not. Arthur ranked higher on Merlin’s list of priorities than the he did, and it was to Arthur’s quarters he went, after he returned to the physician’s quarters to find them deserted.

A mighty clash of metal made him jump and, without thinking, he charged into Arthur’s quarters, ready to run to his defence if the sound heralded danger, half-afraid that somebody might have decided to assassinate the young man who had been revealed not to be of royal blood.

He ducked just in time to keep from being knocked out by a vase hurled in the general direction of the door but he didn’t move quickly enough to keep himself from being doused with water.

His cry of shock and indignation was enough to stop Arthur in his tracks before he could hurl his next projectile, a silver tray. He thought for a moment that Arthur would apologise but that would probably have been too much to expect even under normal circumstances, let alone when he had just suffered a devastating blow and was venting his fury with the world.

It did not escape Merlin’s notice that virtually all of the items scattered on the floor, shattered or dented depending on how durable they were, were among the most valuable objects in Arthur’s chambers. The silver carafe from the table, and the glass goblets; the large gold bowl for washing; the simple coronet he wore on state occasions; the vases and other few ornaments that had decorated Arthur’s chambers, marking them as the quarters of a member of the royal family.

Arthur seemed to be determined to destroy every one of the trappings of his life as a Prince and, despite only having the use of one hand, his aim was true and his throws were powerful.

“Merlin!” Arthur all but growled his name. “What are _you_ doing here?” He didn’t bother to wait for an answer. “You needn’t bother to clean that up,” he sneered, though Merlin had made no move to do so. “I don’t suppose that you will want to be my servant any longer, will you? I can’t say that I’d blame you if you didn’t. You’re under no obligation to remain in my service, you know,” he said bitterly. “The King awarded you a position in the royal household, and you can’t be the Prince’s manservant if there’s no Prince. Maybe you can be the King’s manservant - or maybe Morgana can find something for you to do to help Gwen, until she has a husband you can serve.”

“I don’t want to stop working for you!” Merlin protested at once, feeling hurt that Arthur could think so little of him as to imagine that he would want to abandon him. 

His position as Arthur’s manservant might have begun as Uther’s idea of a suitable reward for saving the life of his son - though at the time Merlin would have preferred virtually any other reward or none at all - and in their early days together, he stuck with the job because he knew that it left him well-placed to protect Arthur rather than because he derived any real satisfaction or enjoyment from his work. However, it was a long time since Merlin had regarded his job as a mere obligation endured for the sake of their shared destiny, as there was no other way that he could stay close enough to Arthur. The work was hard and often thankless but he now counted Arthur as a friend, and could no more leave him than he could part with one of his limbs.

They were two sides of a coin, and meant to be together, no matter what happened. 

“I wouldn’t think any less of you if you did,” Arthur said, a little more calmly. “Most servants in your position would be looking for a new master right now. I don’t know how much my word will be worth now, but I can recommend you to any lord or knight who might be on the look-out for a manservant. I might have to stretch the truth a little…” He trailed off, his half-hearted attempt at a joke sounding flat, even to his own ears.

“I’m not leaving,” Merlin stated firmly. “I don’t care about that stupid sword and whatever it’s supposed to mean!”

“Then you’re the only one who doesn’t,” Arthur glowered for a few moments before softening, and managing to give Merlin a faint smile. “Thank you,” he said sincerely. “You’re a true friend.”

“I’m not your only friend, you know,” Merlin said, feeling a warm glow of pleasure at hearing Arthur call him his friend, and at knowing that, for once, his loyalty was being recognised. “Lancelot, Gwaine, Percival and Elyan will all stand by you.” There was no question in his mind about that. They were all good, loyal men who, while they might not think of Uther as the sort of King they would wish to serve, would willingly follow Arthur wherever he might lead them. Even if some of the knights of noble blood turned on Arthur, thinking him less worthy of their respect because he didn’t have Uther’s blood in his veins, the four most recent additions to the Knights of Camelot would not waver in their loyalty to the man who fought for their right to be admitted to the order, regardless of their status, caring only that each of them had proven himself worthy of the honour. “And you’ll have Gwen too. This won’t change how she feels about you.”

“She’s Morgana’s friend,” Arthur countered automatically. “I can’t ask her to choose between us.”

“Does it have to be a choice?” Merlin was of the opinion that, if it came to a choice between the two, Gwen would cleave to Arthur, the man she loved, but he did not say so aloud. Even in the privacy of Arthur’s chambers, they never alluded to his feelings for Guinevere, and they never voiced the idea that, when the time came for Arthur to be King, he could make her his Queen, regardless of any arguments the nobility might make in favour of a royal match.

Arthur shrugged, doing his best to feign nonchalance. “Only one of us can be heir to the throne and, after what happened today, nobody can say that I have any right to expect to be King.”

Merlin had been part of the royal household too long to be so naïve as to think that anybody was likely to be of the opinion that the blood that flowed in Arthur’s veins was a secondary consideration, and that all that truly mattered was that he was capable of being a great King. The King’s son was his natural heir and, if they no longer believed Arthur to be Uther’s son, they would no longer consider him to have any right to be heir to the throne, regardless of the fact that he was educated and trained from birth to rule Camelot one day. Morgana had proven her Pendragon heritage and, in the absence of another child of Uther’s, she was the only heir by right of blood.

It made him furious to think that, after all that Arthur did to prove himself worthy of being King, and all that he would do for Camelot once he sat on the throne, he was no longer considered fit to succeed Uther because the man’s blood did not flow in his veins.

“It would be easier if I had failed in my quest,” Arthur remarked glumly, as though he knew what Merlin was thinking. “At least if I had failed, and Fath… the King disinherited me, I would know that it was because I wasn’t strong enough to be the King Camelot will need. It would be my fault, because I didn’t try hard enough or because I wasn’t good enough but _this_ …” He balled his uninjured hand into a tight fist, punching the table and wincing at the pain as his knuckles cracked against the hard surface. “Why did it have to be something that I have no control over?” 

“It’s not right!” Merlin exclaimed, wishing that it lay in his power to make everybody forget what had happened with the sword, to make them believe that the ceremony went smoothly and that nobody would ever question that it was Arthur’s right and his destiny to be King one day. It was wrong that, after all Arthur did for Camelot, he was to be rejected through no fault of his own.

Arthur flung himself into one of the chairs, absently nursing his burned hand. His eyes were downcast and he stared at the polished surface of the table, his mind fixed on thoughts of all that he had expected his life to bring him, and all that was not to be.

The changes he planned to make to his father’s laws, balancing retaining the good with abolishing laws that no longer served Camelot, like the First Code that denied the chance to join the Knights of Camelot to skilled warriors for no better reason than that they were not of noble blood.

The kingdom he hoped to build where every citizen, highborn or low, could be assured that they would always be treated justly, with fair trials for those who stood accused of breaking the law, punishments that fit the crime and mercy when mercy was called for. It was to be a kingdom where the welfare of the citizens would be their King’s first priority, where taxes would never be higher than they needed to be, and would never be so high that people must deprive themselves and their families of the necessities of life in order to pay them, and a kingdom where all of the citizens shared in the kingdom’s prosperity.

The day when he would be free to go to the woman he loved and ask her to do him the great honour of marrying him, when it finally lay in his power to change the laws and disregard the customs that decreed that, as a commoner, she was unworthy of being his wife.

The day when he would take his place as King, with Guinevere by his side, knowing that he could give Camelot no finer or more deserving Queen.

It was all gone.

Morgana would be Queen one day, ruling the kingdom he had expected would be his and wearing the crown that he longed to be able to place on Guinevere’s head.

He would be nothing.

He would be the late Queen’s bastard, the living proof of her betrayal.

“Morgause showed me the truth about my birth, after all.” 

Merlin did his best to look surprised by this revelation but, fortunately for him, Arthur was not paying sufficiently close attention to him to notice that this wasn’t news to him.

“My mother was unable to bear a child, so Uther sought help from a sorceress so that he could have an heir. She used magic so that my mother would bear a son… me… but it killed her. My mother died because I was born. And it was all for nothing! The son that he wanted so badly isn’t even his!” He laughed but there was no humour in it, only anger and bitterness. “The problem was never with _him_ , Morgana is proof of that, but he couldn’t let my mother go and he couldn’t give up hope of having a son to succeed him. He wanted it both ways, and my mother paid the price.”

“I’m sure that the King didn’t know…” Merlin began, feeling that he ought to say something, and it was likely true that Uther never understood the consequences of the magic Nimueh was using until it was too late, and his beloved wife was dead.

“It still happened. And she’s still paying the price for his choice, in a way,” Arthur said bitterly. “After today, everybody will believe that she was an adulteress and that I was fathered by her lover - or one of her lovers,” he amended, knowing that there were bound to be some among the courtiers who would delight in thinking the worst of another, even a long-dead Queen who they had professed respect and affection for during her lifetime. “It’s not as if I can tell the truth. The King won’t admit to using magic; he can’t if he wants the people to respect his laws against magic. And nobody would believe me if I accused him, they’d just think that I was looking for an excuse that would clear my mother’s name. Who could believe that the King would use magic?”

Merlin held his tongue with some difficulty.

Part of him thought that it should be made known to the people that their King, who claimed that magic was an evil that could not fail to corrupt the hearts of those who wielded it, once had such faith in it that he was willing to entrust the future of his line to a sorceress. However, Arthur was right that, unless Uther was prepared to admit to what he did, any attempt he made to expose him would be seen as nothing but a desperate attempt to clear his mother’s name.

“What are you going to do now?” Merlin asked tentatively, wondering if Arthur planned to leave Camelot. If so, he knew that he would be leaving too.

“I don’t know,” Arthur responded honestly. “Camelot is my home and I don’t want to leave but I won’t stay if there is no longer a place for me here.”

“You’re still Camelot’s greatest warrior,” Merlin pointed out hopefully. “The King would be a fool not to want you to stay in command of the army, and the knights will follow you.”

“Maybe,” Arthur conceded. “I suppose I’ll soon find out what the King has in mind for me.” He gave Merlin a thin, wry smile. “If I stay in Camelot as a knight, I can still keep a servant…” he hinted.

Merlin returned his smile with a wider one of his own. “I’d be honoured, my lord.”


	4. Chapter Four

Gaius knew that he could thank his long friendship with Geoffrey for his relative freedom to browse the shelves of the vast library, and to bring books back to his quarters rather than having to read them under the stern, watchful gaze of the court librarian, who had a habit of hovering over visitors to the library, as though he feared that they would do something to damage the books they read. It was also thanks to his friendship with Geoffrey that the other man had kept this volume waiting for him, when there were so many people anxious to lay hands on books about King Bruta.

Lords and ladies to whom the legendary King of Camelot was only a name a couple of days ago were filled with curiousity about him after what had happened at the ceremony the previous day, and Geoffrey was constantly pestered with requests for books about his history.

The volume Geoffrey had slipped to him was old, bound in musty smelling leather. The pages were dry with age and the ink had faded a little but the script was fine and clear, the work of a trained scribe who took great pride in his work. He handled the book with care, knowing that his friendship with Geoffrey would not save him if he returned one of the precious books in his charge to him torn or dirty. At the very least, it would mean an end to his relatively free access to the library.

Most of the tales in the book were accounts of the battles King Bruta fought to unite a divided land under his rule, or of how the newly united kingdom prospered under his rule, of the laws put in place for the protection of the people, the army that defended the kingdom’s borders from those who sought to claim it as their own, and the system of taxation that was put in place to ensure that each citizen of Camelot would pay his fair share towards the upkeep of the kingdom that sheltered him. There were even a few anecdotes about cases on which King Bruta sat in judgment over disputes between citizens or when one was accused of a crime, preserved in the annals of his reign so that future generations might know of his wisdom and justice.

Uther had modelled himself after his illustrious ancestor, at least to an extent, seeking to emulate King Bruta’s wisdom and justice but, unlike Uther, King Bruta did not shun magic. To him, it was a tool, like any other, and one that could be of great use when wielded wisely.

On another day, Gaius would have enjoyed reading more of the history of Uther’s ancestor, as he had an interest in the history of Camelot but not the leisure time to do much reading, aside from his studies of anatomy and medicine but today, there was only one story he was interested in reading. He flicked through the pages in search of it and, when he found it, he read it several times over, scanning the pages for details he might have missed in previous readings.

He was engrossed in the book when the sound of stomping footsteps and a slammed door heralded Merlin’s arrival.

“What’s the matter?” Gaius asked. 

Like everybody else, Merlin was stunned by yesterday’s revelation, so much so that he had said very little on the subject to him. He spent the evening attending to Arthur, and Gaius had retired to bed by the time he came in. This morning, Merlin was up unusually early, scrambling into his clothes and hurrying to his duties, barely taking the time to bid Gaius ‘good morning’ before he left. Gaius would have had to be a fool not to anticipate that Merlin would be far from pleased by the events of the previous day, and what it would mean for Arthur, so it did not surprise him to see the dark scowl on his face, or the way his lips were pressed into a thin line, as though he was struggling to keep from saying something that he knew would get him into trouble.

“Everything,” Merlin groused. “I went to Arthur’s chambers first thing this morning to light the fire before he woke up but the basket of firewood hadn’t been filled yet. And then when I found Bran, he told me that he had to see to it that Sir Lucan and Lady Olwen’s firewood was delivered first but he’d deliver Arthur’s later,” he said, referring to the youth whose duty it was to ferry firewood to the chambers used by members of the royal family and their noble guests. Like everybody else, Bran was kept very busy, with so many visiting nobles in the castle. “I had to wait ages for him to show up with the wood, so Arthur was awake before the fire was lit. The room was freezing! Arthur didn’t say anything but I know that it bothered him. I was lucky to be able to get a jug of hot water from the kitchens for him, with the way everybody was pushing past me. One of the maids who came with a guest took a jug out of my hands without a word and walked off with it! And then when I went to get breakfast for Arthur, Audrey hit me over the head with her spoon before I could finish filling a tray, and then made me wait until the other breakfast trays were ready before she would give me anything for Arthur. If one of the kitchen maids hadn’t saved some eggs and honey for me, all I’d have had to bring up would be bread, porridge and ale!” Merlin exhaled in frustration, scowling at the memory of his trying morning.

Gaius listened to the tale of woe without interrupting, waiting until Merlin finished his retelling before speaking. “It’s not surprising, under the circumstances,” he pointed out gently. “You can’t blame Bran or Audrey, or any of the other servants for treading carefully, given the uncertain state of affairs at the moment. Not every servant is as lucky as you are.”

Although Merlin would dispute it very vocally, he was very fortunate in his master. Few nobles, let alone royals, would have tolerated his clumsiness, his frequent complaints about his duties and mostly good-natured insults, not to mention the fact that it was not unusual for him to be nowhere to be found, when he was occupied defending Camelot from some threat or another. Arthur might deny that he was fond of him but he would not have allowed him to remain as his manservant if he had not quickly come to like and trust him. Other members of the royal household did not share Merlin’s immunity, and must be constantly on guard against doing anything that might cause offence to their betters, for fear that they would find themselves dismissed if they did.

Merlin looked ready to object but Gaius didn’t give him a chance to. Knowing how vital it was that Merlin be made to understand how things stood now, for his own sake, he seized the opportunity to impress his point on the boy, to make him see why things could no longer be as they were.

“Until now, you have been the Prince’s manservant, so it was to be expected that, after the King’s chambers, Arthur’s would be the first to have firewood delivered, and you could expect to have the kitchen servants make his needs a priority, so you didn’t have to wait for hot water, or for Audrey to get food together for Arthur’s meals. Things will be different now.”

“Arthur’s still the same person he always was!” Merlin protested, objecting to the idea that his friend was now regarded as less than he was before.

“The same person, yes, but not the same title.” Uther might not have formally stripped Arthur of the title of Prince yet but nobody would ever again address him as such. Even those who sympathised with him would not dare to treat him as a Prince. “Virtually every lord, lady and knight in the kingdom saw him prove that he was not the King’s son, so they don’t see him as Prince Arthur any longer, they see him as a child of adultery, with no claim to royal status, much less to the throne. Even if they knew the truth about Arthur’s birth, it wouldn’t change the fact that he has no Pendragon blood in his veins,” he added, before Merlin could defend Ygraine from the posthumous charge of adultery. “Quite a few of the nobles who have come to stay in the castle are easily offended and, as Arthur is no longer a Prince, they would object to being kept waiting for his sake. Bran and Audrey cannot take it upon themselves to decide that a lord should be kept waiting for the sake of a... I don’t even know what Arthur would be considered now.” 

He had faith that Uther would make a move to regularise Arthur’s position in the near future, for the sake of clarity if nothing else, but until he did, nobody could be certain where Arthur stood. For all they knew, he was no longer to be considered a noble, if it was ruled that even Ygraine’s de Bois blood could not entitle her illegitimate son to be considered to be of noble birth, not when there was no way of proving that his father was not a commoner.

“I suppose they’ll be falling over themselves to see to it that Morgana is taken care of,” Merlin commented bitterly, his scowl deepening.

“I doubt very much that she will notice any difference in the way the royal household treats her,” Gaius contradicted in a cool, even voice, frowning at Merlin’s bitter tone. While it was true that Merlin was not as close to Morgana as he was to Arthur and Guinevere, Gaius had thought that they were friends and did not like the note of hostility in Merlin’s voice as he spoke of her. “Uther has always made it very clear that he expected her to be treated as his daughter.” 

Uther had never tolerated anything less than that Morgana should be treated with the respect due to a member of the royal family. Gaius could remember the days following Gorlois’ death, while arrangements were made for Morgana to make her journey from Cornwall to Camelot, and Uther was always adamant that his new ward was to be regarded as a princess in everything but title. At the time, he and everyone else in the palace believed that Uther’s friendship with Gorlois, and perhaps his guilt over the man’s death, was the reason why he was so determined to see to it that Gorlois’ little daughter would enjoy every comfort and honour he could grant her. Now that the truth about Morgana’s paternity was known, Gaius could only imagine how difficult it must have been for Uther to have his child with him but to have to keep from claiming her as his own.

“So it was fine for everybody to treat _her_ like a princess before they knew that she was Uther’s daughter but Arthur is nothing now and he’s supposed to leave with his tail between his legs!” Merlin exclaimed, angry on his friend’s behalf.

“Not nothing,” Gaius corrected him sharply, his frown deepening. “Uther loves Arthur, and that’s not going to change. I can’t imagine that he wants Arthur to leave, or that he would allow him to. He is going to need time to sort things out but I am sure that Arthur will always be welcome to call Camelot ‘home’, and that Uther will arrange a suitable place for him.”

“But he won’t be the heir to the throne anymore.” It wasn’t a question but Merlin still looked to Gaius with wide blue eyes, as though willing his mentor to reassure him that he was wrong, to point out some potential solution he might have overlooked.

“No. I doubt it will be long before Uther formally vests the succession in Morgana and her heirs.”

Given that Morgana was born out of wedlock, it would be necessary for Uther to formally acknowledge her as his daughter in order to safeguard her claim against any rivals who might try to argue that her illegitimacy rendered her unfit to take the throne but as Uther had no other children and was at an age where nobody would want to wait for him to remarry and father another child, he doubted that there would be any objections once Uther declared his intention to name Morgana his heir. If anything, it was a relief to people to know that there was somebody in line to take the throne, now that Arthur could no longer be regarded as having any right to claim it. The fact that she could wield the Sword of King Bruta would serve to silence any objections that might be made to the idea of a woman as Uther’s heir.

“But he can decree that Arthur is still the heir to the throne,” Merlin pointed out hopefully, eager to seize on any chance that Arthur might still be King. “When the troll enchanted him, he was able to disinherit Arthur for her sake, even though she had no Pendragon blood. Nobody _wanted_ to see her become heir but they couldn’t stop Uther naming her if he wanted to. He can always declare that he wants Arthur to remain his heir. He could say that Morgana and her children are to rule after Arthur, even if he has a child of his own,” he added, half-grudgingly.

While he was certain that Uther would want to see to it that any grandchildren Morgana gave him did not miss out on the throne, he was still hopeful that he would see that he could leave Camelot in no safer hands than Arthur’s. Arthur was the one who was born to rule Camelot, and who was taught all that a King needed to know since he was a small child. Once he was King, Arthur would prove to everybody that he needed no Pendragon blood to be a great ruler, and nobody would argue with him if he and Guinevere had a son, and he named him his heir, despite Uther’s decree.

“And what reason do you think Uther can give as to why he would rather leave his throne to his late wife’s bastard rather than to his only child?” Gaius saw Merlin flinch at his use of the word ‘bastard’ but there was no sense in him sugar coating the truth. In the eyes of Camelot, and of all Albion once word of what had happened reached the rulers of the other kingdoms, Arthur had no possible right to sit on Uther’s throne. Men of royal and noble blood would find it particularly repugnant if he attempted to claim it. It would do Merlin no good to cling to a fantasy that things might somehow be allowed to continue as if nobody had ever learned that Arthur was no Pendragon. The moment he touched the Sword, everything was irrevocably changed.

“Arthur has done everything Uther wanted him to do to prove that he was worthy of the throne! And more! It’s not fair to punish him for something he had no control over!” Merlin’s voice grew progressively louder and he grew progressively angrier at the thought that, despite everything Arthur had done, despite everything he was destined to do… everything _they_ were destined to do _together_ , Arthur was to be punished for the circumstances of his birth, and Albion was to lose out on the rule of a great King, who would have united the land and led it into a golden age.

“That is how it is, Merlin,” Gaius said, more gently this time. “Uther fought for Camelot and won, so his right to be King is respected. Arthur was heir to the throne as Uther’s son, not because he won the right to succeed him. If Uther’s blood does not flow in his veins, he cannot and will not be accepted as his natural heir, least of all when Uther has a child of his own.”

“But Arthur is meant to be King!” Merlin protested, unable to bring himself to give up on the idea that there was some solution to this mess, some way that he could see to it that Arthur became the King he was destined to be, no matter what anybody else might think about who had the right to succeed Uther. “This is a mistake! Something has gone wrong! Morgana isn’t the one who is meant to rule Camelot! It’s Arthur’s destiny to be King and my destiny to help and protect him!”

For answer, Gaius slid the open book across the bench until it was directly in front of Merlin. He gestured to the account he wanted him to read. “Read that,” he instructed.

The scowl on Merlin’s face faded, replaced by an expression of concentration as he read the tale of King Bruta, his wife, Queen Alyse, and the events that led to the forging of the legendary Sword. When he finished reading and looked up to meet Gaius’ gaze, his eyes were wide.

“Queen Alyse was a Seer.” He wondered if Uther knew enough of his ancestress to be aware that she had magic. He couldn’t imagine that it was something he would want known.

“She was,” Gaius confirmed, “but as far as I can tell, her power worked a little differently to Morgana’s. Morgana sees the future in her dreams but it seems that Queen Alyse was able to _know_ things that would happen, without needing to it in her dreams. There’s very little written about her. Most of the accounts focus on King Bruta, not his wife. I don’t know whether she started by having dreams, and developed her power from there, or if it was always different. It is said that she helped her husband win many battles because she could anticipate when and how his enemies would strike. Most of the events she foresaw happened shortly afterwards, but this was different. She knew what was going to happen hundreds of years before it did. She knew that, one day, Camelot would be lost to King Bruta’s true heir when a pretender took the throne.”

“And when she told King Bruta, he had sorcerers enchant his sword so it would have the power to reveal who was of truly of his bloodline, and to expose any pretenders,” Merlin finished.

“That’s right.”

“But she ruined everything!” Merlin exclaimed, frustrated to think that a woman centuries dead, a woman whose magic could have been no more than a fraction as powerful as his, had been able to ruin everything so thoroughly that even he could not put it right for Arthur. “What does it matter that Arthur isn’t really descended from King Bruta? He was going to be the greatest King who ever lived, and he would build a greater kingdom than Bruta or Uther or Morgana ever could! That’s more important than whose blood flows in his veins.”

“I imagine that King Bruta felt differently. He sought to protect his heir, and believed that he was doing the best thing for Camelot.”

“He was wrong!” Merlin all but spat the words, furious with the long-dead King.

“How can you be certain? Did you read the whole story? Queen Alyse didn’t just foresee that a pretender would usurp the throne from the true heir! She foresaw the end of King Bruta’s line and predicted that the kingdom would fall if the pretender took the throne. It was to be expected that they would seek to prevent this, however they could.”

“They cost Camelot the greatest King it could ever have had. Arthur’s destiny is to restore magic and unite Albion and rule over a golden age.”

Merlin felt a hard lump form in his throat at the thought that everything he had worked so long for might all be for nothing. For two years, he served and protected Arthur, slaving away at a seemingly never-ending list of chores, striving to defend Arthur against threats without being able to let the man he protected know that he used magic to do so, and enduring the knowledge that, as far as virtually everybody in Camelot was concerned, he was just an ordinary commoner, fit only to serve his betters and fortunate that Uther had allowed him a place in the royal household. There were days when he felt so frustrated with his lot that only the shining promise of the destiny he would one day share with Arthur kept him in Camelot.

Now it seemed as though he was doomed never to realise his destiny.

There would be no King Arthur, ruling his people wisely and well, uniting the land under a monarch who would create a proud nation out of scattered kingdoms.

There would never be a day when Merlin could tell a newly crowned Arthur of his magic, finally letting him know of the many times he had used his magic, the magic that Uther had taught him to despise, to save his life and to protect his kingdom, a day when Arthur would realise that, in the right hands, magic was a powerful force for good and know that Merlin was the one person on whom he could always rely. He would not be able to be the protector and advisor of the greatest King who would ever live, serving as a living example of the good magic could do. While it was certain that Morgana would reverse Uther’s laws against magic once she was Queen, he would not be part of that decision and she would never trust him as Arthur would have, not when he would either have to confess to having kept his magic a secret from her, despite knowing of hers, or else be doomed to have to continue to hide his gifts, even when others could use their magic freely.

There would be no Queen Guinevere, lovelier, wiser and more gracious than any princess could ever hope to be, showing the nobility how wrong they were to look down on those of common birth, thinking themselves superior for no better reason than that they had had the good fortune to be highborn, and becoming a Queen who could truly understand the needs of her people, as she had lived among them and knew of their lives and their struggles.

There would be no Albion, no new, golden world where every man, woman and child would be judged by their deeds, not their births, and where magic flourished.

Morgana might not be a bad Queen, she might even be a good Queen, but she would never be a _great_ Queen and would never be able to accomplish as much as Arthur would have as King.

“How can you be so certain of that?”

Gaius’ question caught him off-guard and for a moment, Merlin could only gape at him.

The destiny that had served as his guiding star for the past two years was so much a part of his life now that there were times when he almost forgot that he was the only one, apart from the Great Dragon, who knew of it. Gaius was aware that he spoke with the Great Dragon from time to time but he never pushed him to tell him what they spoke about.

“The Great Dragon told me, when I first came to Camelot, before I was even Arthur’s manservant. Arthur is destined to be the greatest King who ever lived, as long as he has me there to protect him and guide him, to make sure that he becomes the King he is destined to be.”

“I see.” Gaius raised an eyebrow at this. He didn’t have the heart to suggest to Merlin that the Great Dragon might have misled him in the hope of gaining his trust, knowing that there would never again be another with Merlin’s power but he couldn’t help but have his suspicions. Merlin was already angry and upset enough. “That was just _one_ prophecy, Merlin,” he pointed out. “ _One_ way that events might have happened, out of countless others. Queen Alyse had another prophecy and, like you, she and King Bruta acted according to the information they had about the future.”

“But Arthur…” Merlin’s protest was effectively silenced by a stern look from Gaius.

“They did what they believed was best. Who are you to decide that they were wrong to do so?”

* * *

Uther had expected that the issue of the succession, and of the respective positions of his children following the revelation during Arthur’s aborted investiture, would be the first item on the agenda during the Council meeting and, while part of him dreaded it, he also knew that the best thing for everybody was to have matters sorted and to be done with it. Instead, to his surprise, the lords on his Council shied away from addressing the issue at first, focusing on other, safer and more trivial matters. It seemed that none of them were willing to be the first to address the matter.

Even Agravaine, who he would have thought would be eager to rub salt in his wounds, did not take the opportunity to raise the issue, though that was probably because even he could see that it would be unseemly for Ygraine’s brother to allude to her supposed adultery in open Council.

Sir Cador, who was far from shy, also held his peace on the subject though, in his case, it was because he was waiting for the opportune moment to press his claim to Gorlois’ lands. The question of Arthur’s position interested Sir Cador only in terms of the impact it would have on Morgana’s, and therefore his own. Once Uther formally claimed Morgana as his daughter, Sir Cador would be ready to argue that any claim she had to Gorlois’ lands was nullified.

He knew that he ought to lay the issue on the table himself, as it would not grow any easier with waiting, but he remained silent, wanting to see which of the noblemen charged with acting as his advisors would be brave enough to be the first to broach a difficult subject. It was their duty to keep him informed and to counsel him about what was in the best interests of the kingdom, after all, even if they feared that he would not like what they had to say. He was curious to learn which of them had the courage to chance braving his anger for the sake of the kingdom.

He would not have expected Lord Dinadan to be the first to speak. 

Lord Dinadan was no dullard, nor did he sit silently in Council meeting and leave it to others to do the talking while he did his best to look interested and engaged, as one or two of the lords did when it was their turn to take a seat on the Council despite preferring to remain in their own homes and seeing to the smooth running of their estates, but he was also not usually a man who wanted to be the first to broach an unpleasant topic, generally preferring to let somebody else raise the issue, and only then would he chime in with his opinion on the subject.

“Sire, we must speak of what we learned at Arthur’s investiture,” Lord Dinadan pointed out, opting not to refer to Arthur by any title, until he was given directions for how he was to be addressed. “The people need the security of knowing who will rule over them when you are gone.”

Uther could not deny the truth of his words.

Before he and Ygraine were finally able to announce that she carried the heir to the throne, and before Arthur was born, concern about what would happen if he died without an heir had occupied the thoughts of the lords on his Council and, he was certain, the thoughts of many other citizens of Camelot, who feared to lose the peace, security and prosperity that the stable reign of a strong King had brought them. In those days, even when it was feared that Ygraine was barren, the lords did not believe that all hope was lost, not when Uther had the option of setting her aside and taking a new wife who would hopefully prove to be fertile. At his age, however, remarriage in the hope that he would father a new heir to the throne was not an option. He was not an old man but his chances of living long enough to see a child not yet conceived come of age were slim.

Even if he could bring himself to remarry, even if he was not too old to father more children, an infant heir would be of no use to him or to Camelot.

Morgana was his only child, and the only child he was likely to have.

She was the only Pendragon heir that he could hope to leave.

“It is a blessing that Your Majesty has a child of your blood,” Agravaine chimed in smoothly. “Thankfully, the truth was exposed before my sister’s bastard son could take a throne to which he has no right. I cannot tell you how deeply it grieves me to know that Ygraine betrayed you and this kingdom by placing a cuckoo in your nest, my lord. I can only be thankful that her boy will not be permitted to usurp the birthright of the true Pendragon heir. That would have been a travesty!”

Uther had to clench his hands into tight fists and will himself to keep from striking the man but he could see the approving nods of virtually every man seated at the Council table, with the exception of Gaius, at his words. He could imagine that they must all think that Agravaine was being very brave to face the unpleasant “truth” about his sister, rather than attempting to deny it, to insist that some deception was at play and to protest the idea of his nephew being disinherited. At least some of them were bound to be wondering if they would have been as willing to face the truth, if they stood in his shoes, or if they would have tried to deny it, despite being presented with indisputable evidence, unable to stomach the disgrace to their family’s name and honour.

He knew better.

He knew that Agravaine must be aware that Ygraine was never guilty of adultery but, not only did he refrain from defending her name, he was happy to agree with those who condemned her and who spoke disparagingly of Arthur, the man they all praised to the skies just yesterday, and knew how much it hurt Uther not to be able to defend them. 

“Lord Agravaine speaks the truth,” Lord Dinadan stated, giving Agravaine an approving nod, while one of the other lords seconded him with a murmured “Well said.” Agravaine inclined his head slightly by way of response, his expression neutral, save for the faint gleam of satisfaction Uther could see in his eyes. “Do you intend to recognise the Lady Morgana’s claim to the throne, Sire?”

“I do.”

At Uther’s nod, Geoffrey of Monmouth rose to his feet, fumbling with the stack of documents in front of him to find the ones he wanted. It was no surprise that the man had come prepared. Uther imagined that, whatever decision he and his Council might have come to today, Geoffrey would have the necessary documentation prepared and neatly ordered in the stack in front of him, ready to be presented for his signature, saving the need to wait while papers were drawn up.

“Sire, is it your wish to formally acknowledge the Lady Morgana, formerly of the House of Gorlois, as your issue, so witnessed by the lords here present?” Geoffrey asked solemnly.

“It is,” Uther confirmed. 

When Geoffrey passed him the first of the prepared documents, he signed it and set his seal on it. It was then passed to each of member of the Council in turn, with the exceptions of Gaius and Geoffrey, so that they might sign and seal it as witnesses.

“And do you intend to confer on the said Lady Morgana Pendragon the title of Princess of Camelot and the status in law of your issue, lawfully begotten?”

“I do.” 

A second document was passed around, and a second set of signatures and seals affixed to it.

“And do you acknowledge the said Princess Morgana as heir to the throne of Camelot?”

“I do.”

After the third document was circulated, signed, sealed and gathered up by Geoffrey, to be safely stowed in the vaults, several of the lords tentatively broached the subject of Morgana’s investiture as Crown Princess. Uther knew that, despite the fact that the three witnessed documents would secure her claim to the throne in law, it would also be necessary to publicly present her to the people as the heir to the throne, especially after Arthur’s aborted investiture. While it was true that Morgana was still some months away from coming of age, there was no law that forbade her investiture before then, and it was better to get it over with rather than dragging things out. However, he was not in any frame of mind to begin to plan for the ceremony.

“We will speak of that that later,” he stated firmly, an obedient hush falling over the Council chamber at his words. “I must first discuss the matter with Princess Morgana.” It felt odd to refer to his daughter by her royal title, after so many years of having to pretend that she was just his ward. Before he made any plans for her investiture, he knew that he should speak with her, and give her a chance to voice her preferences. He hoped that she would favour a quick, simple ceremony with minimal fuss rather than taking offence at the idea that he might view her investiture as less of a cause for celebration than Arthur’s was to be. The last thing he needed or wanted was for this matter to drag on for weeks longer than it needed to while preparations were made for a suitably lavish ceremony. “It is not the only matter I intend to speak with her about,” he added, catching Sir Cador’s eye and fixing him with a frown that made it very clear that now was not the time for the man to renew his claim to Cornwall.

Thankfully, Sir Cador had the sense to hold his peace, at least for now.

“And what is to become of Arthur?” Of all of the members of the Council, men who had known Arthur since birth and who spent his childhood enthusing over what a fine young man he was, and what a great King he would be some day, only Gaius was prepared to broach the issue of his fate. The other Council members looked uncomfortable, casting wary glances in Uther’s direction, as though they expected him to take offence at Gaius’ concern for the young man he had raised and loved as his son since the day Arthur was born. Gaius met his gaze squarely, the determined set of his jaw making it clear that he expected a clear answer to his query.

It was a question that had occupied Uther’s thoughts since the truth came out, and one to which he was thankful to have an answer.

“Sir Arthur earned his place as a knight of Camelot six years ago,” he pointed out. Arthur had been young for it, so much so that Uther would have been wary of allowing him to take the challenge, worried that the boy would embarrass himself and the Pendragon name if he failed, had it not been for the insistence of his trainers that he was more than ready to pass any tests with flying colours. “He has served Camelot well since then, and it is my hope that he will continue to do so.”

“But the First Code…” one of the lords began to protest, only to be silenced by Uther’s quelling stare.

“Does not apply in this case. The First Code states that only those of noble blood may serve as knights, and makes no requirement for a candidate to be born in wedlock. I trust that no man present will deny that Queen Ygraine was of noble birth, as a member of the House of de Bois.” Even if Agravaine wished to see his nephew downgraded even further, he would never belittle his own House by denying that his sister had passed noble blood to her son. “As no commoner has claimed Sir Arthur as his son, we may only take his mother’s bloodline into account, so he must be considered to be of noble blood, and therefore eligible for knighthood.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Geoffrey frown, undoubtedly ready to point out that it was not usual for it to be assumed that an illegitimate child born to a noblewoman must be the issue of a nobleman if no man was willing to acknowledge her child, rather than the reverse. However, after a moment, the man’s face cleared as he realised that Uther knew the Code as well as he did, but was taking advantage of every loophole he could think of to ensure that, while Arthur may have lost his royal status and his position as heir, he would not lose the knighthood no man could deny he had earned and be reduced to the status of a commoner.

Arthur’s situation was one that the First Code had not anticipated.

Even if he had had a natural father, no man, be he a nobleman or a commoner, would dare to claim him as his son, not when it would mean his execution for treason.

As Ygraine’s son, he was of noble blood, and entitled to every privilege that conferred.

Uther would allow no man to claim otherwise.

“I suppose that, as the boy is my sister’s son, I should permit him to bear the de Bois name,” Agravaine spoke up, his voice cool and smooth. He sighed softly, as though this was a great deal to ask of him - and most, if not all of the lords present would agree that it was - before looking to Uther for permission. “If you will consent to it, of course, my lord.”

Uther nodded stiffly, disliking the idea of his son bearing his mother’s family name, something that would serve to emphasise his status as a bastard, but liking the idea of him having no family name even less. As he could not be a Pendragon, the de Bois name was the only one to which he had a claim. “It is gracious of you, Lord Agravaine,” he forced himself to say. “I am certain that Sir Arthur will be very grateful to you.” The worst part was that, in all likelihood, Arthur would be very grateful to him, never imagining that Agravaine could know the truth and thinking that his uncle must care so much for him that he was prepared to grant him the right to the de Bois name when he must think him to be the bastard son of his sister’s unknown lover.

“It is the least I can do and little enough, next to all that Arthur has lost,” Agravaine said with an air of benevolence, clearly enjoying the knowledge that Uther was beholden to him for being able to do something for Arthur that he could not. “It is a sad thing that he must suffer for the sins of his mother but there can be no alternative to that, can there?”

“No, there cannot,” Uther agreed coolly.

The public nature of the revelation that Arthur was not of the Pendragon bloodline had ensured that there was no alternative but to disinherit him in favour of Morgana. He couldn’t say what he would have done had he learned of it away from the prying gaze of others, perhaps if he had allowed Arthur to handle the Sword when he was younger, and begged to be allowed a closer look at the precious relic of his ancestor. He loved the boy and would not have wished to cast him off but, at the same time, he would have hated the idea of depriving his line of the throne. He would probably have arranged that Arthur and Morgana marry, knowing that he was the only one living who knew of her paternity and that, as long as he kept it a secret, nobody could mistake it for incest. He could have left his throne to Arthur with an easy heart, knowing that he had prepared him well for the task of ruling, but also ensured that, in time, his grandson would sit on his throne.

After dealing with the more exciting topics of Morgana’s acknowledgement as heir and Arthur’s new place in the world, none of the lords were in the mood to make a fuss over any of the other, duller items on the day’s agenda so the rest of the meeting passed smoothly. Uther was certain that, if asked, few of the members of his Council would be able to give him an accurate account of what was discussed after Arthur’s position was settled. They were all quick to leave the room once he dismissed them, undoubtedly eager to share the latest news with wives and friends. He did not bother to command them to treat the day’s discussions as confidential, knowing that at least a couple of them were bound to find the temptation to share the news irresistible. In any case, the outcome would soon be publicly known, and it could do no real harm for word to circulate early.

“Geoffrey,” Uther called the man’s name before he could leave the room.

Geoffrey waited until everybody else had left before returning to the table, bowing to Uther. “Sire?”

Uther took a red velvet pouch from his pocket and cradled it in the palm of his hand for a moment. It felt far heavier than it should and, though he had resolved to entrust the task of courier to Geoffrey, knowing that he was one of the few members of the royal household who could be relied upon to deliver it to its intended recipient without giving in to the temptation to examine the contents, he was reluctant to hand it to him. If he thought that there was a chance that Morgana would be ready to see him, he would have preferred to give it to her himself but she had closeted herself in her chambers since the previous evening and was seeing no visitors.

“Bring this to the Princess Morgana,” he commanded, forcing himself to loosen his grip of the pouch and hand it to Geoffrey. “Tell her that it belongs to her now.”

“Yes, Sire.” Geoffrey accepted the pouch, bowed low, and backed out of the Council chamber, leaving Uther alone with his thoughts.

* * *

Morgana’s chambers were spotless, her bed made, and her gowns laundered, brushed and hanging neatly in her wardrobe. Every piece of furniture was arranged exactly as she liked it and vases of fresh, carefully arranged flowers brightened the room and scented the air.

Guinevere had performed every task she could think of, some of them twice over, and time still hung heavily on her hands. As a rule, her job as Morgana’s maid kept her very busy but it wasn’t until today that she realised how much of her time was spent accompanying her mistress when she visited the markets or the lower town, or attending her in court. Merlin frequently complained about the mess Arthur made in his chambers, theorising that he did it deliberately, to ensure that Merlin was kept busy but Morgana did not share his habits and, once Guinevere finished her morning cleaning duties and saw to it that breakfast was delivered, laid out and then removed when Morgana didn’t touch it, there was little left for her to do.

Morgana offered her the day off but she couldn’t accept, not after everything that had happened.

There was only one other person that she would have wanted to visit and she knew that there could be no question of her approaching him.

A visit to Arthur’s chambers would have been noted at the best of times and, while most would assume that Morgana had sent her to deliver a message, there were bound to be at least one or two who would wonder if she was seen to visit too often, and who might hint to the King that he ought to take a closer look at his son’s interactions with one of the palace maidservants, for fear that he might come to be too fond of her. After what had happened, any communication between Arthur and Morgana would be noted by avid eyes and they could not afford the scrutiny. Arthur might lose his position as Prince but he was still a noble and, as such, so far above a servant that friendship between them would be frowned upon, let alone anything more.

Morgana was seated on the chaise in front of the fire, embroidering a fine linen cloth. It was not a pastime she usually enjoyed, although years of instruction from the governess Uther engaged after the nurse he found for her when she first came to Camelot was dismissed had made a good, if not excellent needlewoman of her. Judging by how little attention she was paying to what she was doing, Guinevere couldn’t imagine that whatever it was she was stitching would be fit for its intended purpose once she was finished with it. Part of her winced inwardly at the thought of the fine cloth and silk threads that would be wasted on a project that was doomed to be discarded but she supposed that, if it could distract her, even a little, that was a blessing.

Morgana didn’t look up from her needlework when there was a knock on the door, and gave no sign that she heard it.

Guinevere brushed her apron with her hands before moving to answer the door, ready to tell whoever was there that Morgana was not seeing any visitors. She had already had to turn away several people, including Lady Bronwyn, who appeared early that morning, announcing her intention to be a shoulder to cry on for _“that poor child”_ who had no mother to confide in after the great shock she had received, and who was certain to need the comfort that only another lady, of more mature years, could provide her with. Her offer was declined as politely as Guinevere could manage. Uther had come to see her himself shortly after breakfast, to warn her that under no circumstances was Sir Cador of Cornwall to be permitted to see Morgana but, thankfully, the man had not put in an appearance, and she was not forced to shoulder the difficult and unpleasant task of ordering a nobleman to leave, knowing that he was bound to take offence.

“Lady Morgana is not seeing any…” Guinevere trailed off when she saw Geoffrey of Monmouth standing outside the door, waiting patiently to be admitted. “Master Geoffrey,” she greeted him, dipping a slight curtsey in deference to his higher status in the royal household.

The elderly librarian nodded in response to her greeting. “The King sent me to attend Princess Morgana, if she is free to receive me.” He laid a gentle stress on the royal title, lifting one eyebrow, as though to ensure that Guinevere got the message that, from now on, she was to refer to and address her mistress by the title of Princess, as was now her right.

Guinevere nodded, glancing back in Morgana’s direction and waiting for her answering nod before she opened the door wider, stepping back to allow Geoffrey to enter.

Geoffrey strode into the room, stopping when he was a few paces from Morgana and bowing low. “Your Highness,” he greeted her formally. He began to kneel before her but Morgana was quick to spring to her feet to raise him into a standing position, knowing that kneeling was uncomfortable for him, at his age but that he would never admit to weakness of any kind, least of all when it would prevent him from observing the courtly etiquette he deemed proper.

“That’s not necessary, Master Geoffrey,” she told him, continuing quickly, before he could protest that it was necessary for him to accord her every honour due to her new status and insist on falling to his knees before her, despite the fact that she had her doubts that he would be able to stand again without assistance. “You have come with a message from the King?”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Geoffrey bowed again before holding the red velvet pouch he held out for her to take. “The King asked me to give you this. He said that it belongs to you now.”

Morgana accepted the pouch with a quiet “thank you”. She tipped the contents into the palm of her right hand before setting the empty pouch aside and dismissing Geoffrey with a nod and a smile, gesturing for Guinevere to escort him out. He bowed again as he backed out of her presence.

“What is that, my lady?” Guinevere asked, once she had ushered Geoffrey out of the room. “I mean ‘Your Highness’,” she corrected herself hastily, wondering if the royal honourific would ever come naturally to her, when she was accustomed to thinking of another as the heir to the throne since her early childhood. She felt a pang of dismay when Morgana did not tell her that there was no need for the formalities, at least when they were alone, but told herself that, in her present state of mind, she was unlikely to be taking note of how Guinevere addressed her.

“It’s a ring with the Pendragon insignia,” Morgana told her absently, slipping the ring onto her finger and finding it to be a tolerably good fit. She moved towards the window, so that she might examine the ring in the light, and then extended her hand to allow Guinevere to take a closer look. 

The ring was a gold band with a ruby about the size of the nail on her little finger secured in place by the wings of a tiny, exquisitely crafted gold dragon. The design was similar to that of the King’s seal, as well as a ring that Uther often wore. Arthur had a ring like it, worn only on state occasions, but the ring on Morgana’s finger was too small and too dainty to have been intended for anyone but a woman. Guinevere wondered if the King had commissioned it for Ygraine, when he first took possession of the throne and crowned her his Queen, or if he had had it made with the intention that it would be worn by Arthur’s bride, when the time came. She couldn’t imagine how else he could have had the ring prepared at a day’s notice. He had clearly had no intention of acknowledging Morgana as his daughter before she unwittingly forced his hand.

It felt wrong to see it on Morgana’s finger, knowing that it must have been intended for another.

Unbidden, an image came to mind of Arthur placing the ring on _her_ finger, his smile warm and his eyes alight with joy as he bent to kiss her hand.

She rarely allowed herself the luxury of daydreaming, not when the images that occupied her mind were so dangerous, a dream that could never be, but sometimes she couldn’t keep herself from imagining what it might be like. She could picture herself wearing a fine gown, as fine as those she helped Morgana into every day, and laundered and mended as needed, if not finer, a gown fit only for a Queen. She imagined crossing the length of the Great Hall to the dais, conscious of the fact that, far from passing unnoticed, as she usually did, all eyes were upon her, with smiles on every face. She imagined kneeling in front of Arthur so that he could place Queen Ygraine’s crown on her head, before raising her to her feet and guiding her to the throne next to him so that she might look out on the court, on her new subjects, waiting to pay homage to their Queen.

_“By the sacred laws vested in me, I crown you Guinevere, Queen of Camelot.”_

_“Long live the Queen!”_

In her daydreams, Arthur’s voice was always filled with love and pride, and the voices of the court a joyous chorus as they cried out, welcoming her as their Queen and wishing her a long, happy life.

In reality, she knew that, even if a day had come when Arthur was able to marry her and she became his Queen, the reception would be cooler by far. She had first come to work in the palace as a kitchen maid the month before her thirteenth birthday and, thanks to a recommendation from Sir Leon’s mother, who remembered her own mother for her diligent service as a maid in their household, she was recommended for the position of maid to the King’s ward some four years later, when Morgana marked her fourteenth birthday by losing her governess and gaining a maid. The role was a coveted one, and she was conscious of the fact that other servant girls in the palace, many of whom had worked there longer and were of higher rank, resented the fact that she was the one chosen to escape the drudgery of the kitchens, laundry and general cleaning duties for service to a lady of the court. Her new position brought her into closer contact with the nobility and she saw how they regarded those who served them. Morgana was a sweet girl who had become a kind and fair mistress to her but, to others of the nobility, she and other servants were treated with disdain, as though they existed only to serve and had no minds and hearts of their own.

Had Arthur been able to make her his Queen, she was certain that there would be no cheers for Queen Guinevere’s coronation.

Instead, the nobility would be certain that Arthur had lost his wits, believing that a King must be mad to even contemplate the idea that a mere servant might be worthy of becoming his wife, when he could take his pick of the loveliest princesses and the noblest ladies in Albion. If they did not think Arthur mad, they would be convinced that he was bewitched. It would never occur to them that a King could love a servant so much that he could only be happy with her as his wife, much less that somebody without royal, or at least noble blood could ever be a good Queen.

Short of discovering that her father had been a lord or, better still, a prince in disguise, she could not hope to be welcomed as Queen. Princess Guinevere or even Lady Guinevere might be accepted but Guinevere, maidservant in the royal household, would never be deemed worthy of the throne. 

At best, her coronation would be greeted with hostile silence.

At worst… she shuddered to think what might be said of her.

“Gwen?” Morgana’s voice jolted her from her musings. “You look miles away. What were you thinking of?”

“Nothing, my… Your Highness,” Guinevere replied quickly. 

She had not been able to confide in Morgana about her budding feelings for Arthur, even when she noticed her daydreaming and teased her about it, insisting that there must be a man involved for her to be so distracted. It was not something that she could feel comfortable discussing with her.

While Morgana frequently insisted that she wouldn’t touch Arthur with a lance pole, it was expected by virtually everybody at court, from the lords and ladies to the servants who had worked in the castle since before Arthur and Morgana were born, that they would marry one day. Why would Uther have kept his ward unmarried for so long if he did not intend to keep her for his son? Part of Gwen feared that, if she confided in Morgana, she would not be pleased to hear that her friend was attracted to a man who was widely thought to be intended for her.

Worse still, she couldn’t help but worry that Morgana would be offended to think that her maidservant might imagine marrying Arthur and, as his Princess, later his Queen, being of higher rank than she was. Guinevere thought of Morgana as her closest friend and believed that Morgana felt the same way about her. She couldn’t bear the idea that, if she told Morgana of her feelings for Arthur, she might learn that she never saw her as her equal, and see her grow angry at the thought that Guinevere might have presumed to aspire to marry into the royal family.

Now, she would never have to learn the answer to that.

Morgana looked ready to tease her, to renew her theories about which man might have caught her eye and left her to dream of him and, while she looked more animated than she had been since learning that she was the King’s daughter, Guinevere had no patience for that game today. Not only did she have her feelings for Arthur to grapple with, Lancelot’s return to court had awakened the feelings she had for him, and she had no idea what she was going to do. The last thing she wanted was to lay her personal life bare to Morgana’s curious scrutiny.

“Are you sorry?” She blurted the question without thinking of what she was saying and saw the look of astonishment on Morgana’s face at her words. “To find out that the King is your father, I mean,” she ploughed on hurriedly, “and that you’re going to be Queen.”

Morgana looked thoughtful as she twisted the ring around her finger, accustoming herself to the weight and feel of it. 

“No,” she said at last. “I’m not sorry. I mean, I _am_ sorry that Arthur has to be hurt, he doesn’t deserve that, but I’m not sorry that I’m going to be Queen.” Uther may have made no announcement of the fact as yet but nobody could doubt that, sooner rather than later, he would formally declare her to be the heiress to his throne. Her new title of Princess and the ring on her finger confirmed this. “I think that I can be a good Queen,” she continued earnestly, “and that there is a lot that I can do for Camelot, to make the kingdom a better place. Things that Arthur wouldn’t do. I know a lot about ruling a kingdom from watching Uther in court and learning with Arthur when we were children, and I can learn more. I _want_ to learn more. I _want_ to be Queen.”

She looked to Guinevere when she finished speaking, as though expecting reassurances that she would be a great Queen when the time came, one who would do a great deal of good for Camelot.

It was all Guinevere could do to force herself to smile and nod and voice a few vague, supportive words, hoping that this would be enough to satisfy Morgana.

She felt so _angry_ with Morgana, as though she might shout at her, or worse, if she didn’t keep herself under control.

It was all very well for Morgana to predict that she would be a good Queen but what about Arthur, who was raised from birth to be King, only to see the throne snatched away from him for reasons beyond his control? What about the good that he might have done as King? Despite Morgana’s claim that she was sorry about the hurt inflicted on Arthur, Guinevere couldn’t help but wonder how much thought Morgana gave to his feelings before rejoicing that she was to be Queen.

A few years ago, when she believed that Arthur was going to marry Morgana one day, Guinevere was certain that he would need Morgana to guide him. He was such a bully in those days, seemingly heedless of the feelings of those around him, so she took comfort in the thought that, whatever Arthur might be like as King, Morgana would temper his worst faults and ensure that the needs of the people were met. Even as the King’s ward, she made frequent trips to the lower town, to ensure that the poorest families had food, fuel and warm clothes. As Queen, she would be able to do so much more and Guinevere had looked forward to that day.

Now, however, she knew Arthur and knew that he was not the spoiled bully she once saw him as.

He was a good man, a man who always strove to do right by Camelot and its people.

When Merlin was poisoned in an attempt to save his life, Arthur defied his father to seek out the cure needed to save him, despite knowing that he would face the King’s wrath when he returned, if he did not die in his quest for the cure.

He did his best to champion Lancelot’s cause with Uther, who scarcely deigned to commute his sentence to banishment, despite his heroism in defeating the Griffin, and who refused to hear of a commoner being allowed to join the ranks of the knights of Camelot, regardless of his skill.

When Ealdor was threatened, Arthur rallied the village to drive off Kanen.

When her father died, he vowed to her that she would have a job as long as she wanted one, and that her home was hers for life. She was certain that he must have had to argue with Uther on her behalf, to ensure that the King did not dismiss her from the royal household, for fear of the influence that the daughter of a traitor might have on his ward, and that her father’s house, forge and other belongs were not forfeited to the Crown, as a traitor’s punishment.

He showed humility when he allowed William of Deira to claim a victory that was truly his, and apologised sincerely for treating her so rudely when he was a guest in her small house.

He saved Gaius from the flames when the King ordered that he be burned.

He was a very different man to the spoiled, arrogant youth she had watched grow to adulthood.

He had it in him to be a great King and she felt so angry to learn that he was to be denied the opportunity to prove this.

Morgana was her friend and, by all rights, the throne was her birthright. She was the King’s only child and the Sword of Bruta had confirmed that she was the true heir. She would be a good Queen, a kind Queen and a compassionate Queen, if she did not allow her temper to rule her.

Guinevere knew that she had no right to be angry with her for gaining the throne at Arthur’s expense and that, as there was no alternative but that she be Queen, it was better for her to be able to be pleased by the prospect rather than fearing it. She knew that she should be supportive, that she should remember how great a shock it was for Morgana to learn that the blood of the father she loved and whose memory she so revered did not flow in her veins. She should be thinking of how best to help and support Morgana in the days to come, when she was sure to be bombarded with people clamouring to seek the favour of the new heir to the throne and would need somebody to talk to but, instead, she could think only of Arthur and all he had lost, and of all that she had lost… if you could call it a loss when it was never hers to begin with.

The prospect of her becoming Queen was never a realistic one.

She knew that.

Even so, it hurt to lose the dream.

She made herself smile at Morgana, knowing that she needed encouragement and support, not a friend who ignored her while she brooded over something that would never be.

“I’m sure that you will be a good Queen,” she told her, forcing herself not to think of the kind of Queen that _she_ might have been.

* * *

The Great Dragon had ceased bellowing Merlin's name in his mind's ear by the time he finally deigned to visit the cavern, not really wanting to speak to him but unable to keep away any longer. Even so, the dragon showed no sign of surprise when he arrived.

“Young warlock,” his voice was gravelly and his tone sombre as he greeted him, his massive frame slightly hunched, as though in defeat.

Merlin half-expected to hear renewed demands to be set free coupled with pointed reminders that he had sworn on his mother's life that he would do so and thinly veiled threats about what would become of her if he did not keep his word, and he was ready to stand firm against him. Under other circumstances, the fear that his mother would die if he failed to keep his word might have led him to set the Great Dragon free, even if he was unable to convince him to swear that he would not attack Camelot but, thanks to his conversations with Gaius, he was confident that, as long as he did not make up his mind _never_ to free him, his vow to the Great Dragon remained unbroken. He considered the Great Dragon to be in no position to ask a favour of him, let alone demand anything more, given the way he had urged him to kill Morgana when he must have known that there was a way in which the Knights could be stopped without sacrificing her life.

He shuddered to think of what might have happened if he had been able to poison her without Lancelot interfering, if he had not thought to use the water of the Lake of Avalon to revive her.

Even if Uther never learned that Merlin was responsible for the death of his ward… his daughter… and even if he was not forced to flee Camelot to avoid execution, knowing that he would never be able to return, even after Uther’s death, as Arthur would never forgive him, let alone trust him, if he knew what he had done, he would have had to live with the knowledge that he killed Morgana.

“Did you know that this was going to happen?” he demanded instead, glaring up at the Great Dragon, too angry to be intimidated by his size or fearful that he might lash out at him.

“I knew that, if the Witch was allowed to live, you and Arthur would never achieve your destiny,” the Great Dragon responded simply.

“You said that it was Arthur’s destiny to be the greatest King who ever lived, if he had my help. Did you know that he wasn’t Uther’s son?” Merlin demanded, livid to think that the Great Dragon could have known the truth about Arthur's origins but not warned him of it, despite what it would mean for his claim to the throne. Had he known, he could have... he wasn't sure what exactly he could have done to keep Arthur from being exposed but he was sure that he would have thought of _something_ to ensure that they were not cheated of their destiny.

"Yes. It is why I knew that he was the one who would lead the kingdom to greatness. Albion did not need another Pendragon. It needed Arthur. I sensed him the moment he was conceived, and knew his potential. I knew that he might become the greatest King Albion has ever known, and ever will know, a king who would unite the land and make it strong.”

“ _Might_ become,” Merlin echoed bitterly. He could remember his first visit to this cavern with perfect clarity. How could he forget a single detail of the moment he learned of the greatness that he - the son of a humble village woman, scorned for being fatherless and shunned for his magic - was destined to achieve? He could remember every word the Great Dragon spoke to him.

_“Arthur is the Once and Future King who will unite the land of Albion... Without you, Arthur will never succeed. Without you, there will be no Albion... None of us can choose our destiny, Merlin, and none of us can escape it.”_

The word ‘might’ was never mentioned.

The Great Dragon had allowed him to believe that the future was in _his_ hands, and no others.

As long as he fulfilled his destiny, as long as he protected Arthur from those who threatened him, as long as he was there to guide and advise him, moulding the clay that was the spoiled, arrogant Prince he first met into a great and wise man that all the people of Albion would one day be proud to call their King, he would live to see the day when magic was recognized as a force for good in the right hands, and where he would be by Arthur’s side, protecting and advising him, finally respected for all he did for him and for Camelot, no longer a servant to be pushed around but a man that Arthur would know to be his truest friend and most loyal and most valued ally.

He had endured the indignities heaped on him and suffered his losses in silence because he was certain that, one day, it would all be worth it.

The Great Dragon never told him that there were other forces at play, that though he might protect Arthur from every threat he encountered, risking his life by using magic under Uther’s nose, knowing that the man would show him no mercy if he knew that he was a warlock and would never believe that his sole goal was to protect Arthur and Camelot, their destiny was still not guaranteed.

“Would you have been so determined to help and protect Arthur had you known that there was but a slim chance that he would become the King you wished him to be?” The Great Dragon sounded almost gentle as he posed the question, his golden eyes studying Merlin keenly, scrutinizing his reaction to his words. “You had no hope of success if you did not have faith in your destiny.”

Merlin scowled but couldn’t help but think that this was a fair point. 

During his earliest days as Arthur’s servant, when Arthur seemed to be determined to make him suffer for the fact that he was obliged to accept him into his service at his father’s command, to test his mettle by demanding that he complete an impossibly long list of chores and then to find excuses to find fault with his work, he was sometimes sorely tempted to quit his job. Back then, before Arthur became a friend rather than just his master, there were times when the only reason he did not tell Arthur to find himself another dogsbody to wait on him was that he knew that, if he was to protect Arthur, he needed to be able to stay close to him, and his position as manservant gave him an excuse to stay close. Had he quit his job, then even if Uther did not take offence at the idea that a mere servant should think himself above serving the Prince and banish him from the city, and even if he was allowed to remain as Gaius’ assistant, he would no longer have been a part of Arthur’s life and would not be in a position to be the protector and guide he needed.

Would he have been willing to pledge his life in exchange for Arthur’s when he was marked for death by the Questing Beast had he not believed that he had a great destiny in store for him, that the kingdom he was destined to believe was worth laying down his life for, even if he did not live to see it, or would he have mourned his passing and carried on with his life?

“Did you know about Morgana?” he demanded of the Great Dragon, finding the thought that he might have been prepared to let Arthur die a troubling one and wanting to change the subject. “You kept telling me that she was dangerous. Did you know that she was Uther’s daughter?”

“Yes,” the Great Dragon confirmed. “Just as I knew that she had to die in order for Arthur to achieve his destiny. You should not have allowed yourself to shrink from killing her.”

Merlin opened his mouth, ready to protest that Morgana hadn’t been acting against Camelot, that she was a victim of Morgause’s enchantment rather than her ally, but then he shut it abruptly, a cold shudder running through his body at the realization that this was not what the dragon meant.

“If Morgana had died when the Knights of Medhir attacked, Arthur would not have been exposed.”

It made such perfect sense.

While it was true that Uther would not have refrained from bestowing the title of Crown Prince on Arthur following his successful quest, Morgana’s death would have left both him and Arthur in no mood to endure a lavish celebration. Instead of a castle full of noble guests and an elaborate ceremony, Arthur would have been named Crown Prince in quiet ceremony, with only a few lords to bear witness to the occasion. Uther would not have taken the trouble to use the Sword of King Bruta as a prop to emphasize Arthur’s claim to the throne and the truth about his paternity would have remained a secret. Even if he had allowed Morgause to take Morgana with her to heal her, as she wished to, instead of reviving her with water from the Lake of Avalon, her abduction would have ensured that neither Uther nor Arthur would want to take part in an extravagant celebration. Instead, their focus would have been on scouring the kingdom to find her and bring her home.

And once Morgause had her…

Morgause knew the secret of Arthur’s birth and could have known the truth of Morgana’s origins.

If Morgause knew that Arthur was not truly Uther’s son, if she knew that Morgana was the only person who could claim Uther’s throne by right of blood, if she told Morgana this and Morgana believed her… he could see, all too clearly, the path that might have been taken.

Gaius did what he could to help Morgana come to terms with her magic but it was undeniable that she was frightened of what would happen if she was ever discovered. It was not just Uther she feared; she had watched Arthur follow Uther’s commands to hunt down those with magic too often not to worry about the reaction she could expect from him if he learned that she had magic. Unlike him, she did not have the promise of a future where Arthur would restore magic to reassure her that, when the time came, his rule would be very different to Uther’s.

If she knew that the throne was hers by right of blood, and if she believed that Arthur would follow in Uther’s footsteps and persecute those with magic, she would not be content to leave him to claim the throne, not if she saw herself as the true heir and believed that she would be a better ruler than Arthur, one who could make Camelot a safer place for people like her. 

And when she had no way of convincing people that Arthur was no son of Uther’s, no way of proving that hers was the true claim, she would grow angry…

“The Witch is a Pendragon,” the Great Dragon all but growled. “She would not have cared that Arthur could be a great King, only that he wielded power she believed should be hers. She became a threat to Arthur the moment Uther lay with her mother!”

“But she didn’t do anything wrong,” Merlin pointed out. “She was trying to _help_ Arthur when she took the Sword from him. She didn’t know what was going to happen and he’d probably have lost his hand if she hadn’t done it. You didn’t foresee _that_! You just assumed that she was dangerous because of who her father is. You told me that she was a threat and tried to get me to kill her!”

And that was not all.

He couldn’t help but think that, if not for the Great Dragon’s dire warnings about Morgana, he would not have been as willing to abide by Gaius’ instruction that he was to leave it to him to help Morgana to the best of his ability and that under no circumstances was he to tell her of his magic. Gaius did the best he could for her, which was better than nothing, but Merlin was certain that he could have done so much more to teach her about her magic, had he been willing to defy Gaius. Morgana was bound to repeal the laws against magic once she was Queen but how could he hope for her to trust him once she learned that he had known of her struggles with magic from the beginning but never told her that he too had magic?

“I did not foresee that,” the Great Dragon admitted reluctantly.

“No, you just assumed the worst about her because she is a Pendragon.” He was angry over the loss of his destiny, and angry that Arthur was to lose out on the future he was brought up to expect but the Great Dragon’s attitude towards Morgana served to convince him that he couldn’t blame her for who her father was, or for the fact that she was to be Queen. She had not asked for this any more than he had asked to be charged with the task of building Albion with Arthur.

The Great Dragon exhaled in frustration, the resulting gust almost knocking Merlin off his feet, but he did not argue with him.

“Do you know anything about what will happen now?” Merlin’s faith in the Great Dragon’s prophecies would never again be as strong as it was but, if he had any insight to offer, he wanted to hear it, wanted to know that something could be salvaged of his future. “Am I to guide Morgana, as I was meant to guide Arthur?” He truly did not know how he felt about that. While he wanted to hear the Great Dragon reassure him that he was still meant to accomplish great things with his magic, and that he was going to play a part in the building of a mighty kingdom, one where magic flourished and all citizens were treated justly and enjoyed lives of prosperity, it also felt wrong to think of doing it without Arthur.

“Your destiny lies with Arthur,” the Great Dragon told him gravely. “It was only together, with Arthur as King and you by his side, that you had a hope of leading Albion into a golden age. Now there is no hope that Arthur will ever be King. Your destiny is dead.”


	5. Chapter Five

Subtlety would never be one of Olaf’s strengths.

The King of Gwynedd had fleshed out his letter with the appropriate greetings, good wishes for Uther’s health, and assurances that Camelot was a valued and trusted ally to Gwynedd but his true intent was ill-disguised. Even if his thinly veiled hint that he would welcome another visit to Camelot, mere months after his last, together with his comment that he should like the opportunity to introduce his sons to his friend and ally, were not enough to let Uther know what he wanted, his solicitous enquiries about the health of Princess Morgana and his declared wish that his sons might have the honour of being presented to her could leave no possible doubt about his hopes.

He did not doubt that this was only the first of many similar letters he would receive in the weeks and months to come, now that news of his new heir had reached the other rulers of Albion.

Most would probably think it best to wait until Morgana was formally invested with the title of Crown Princess, just in case, but Olaf was never a man to waste time when he saw an opportunity and these days, he was known to be very anxious to see his brood of sons settled.

During the early years of his marriage to Ygraine, when their hopes of a child were dashed, month after month, and he knew that the nobility were murmuring amongst themselves about the lack of an heir, Uther had envied Olaf, who seemed to announce the birth of a new son every year, each of them reported to be as strong, healthy and handsome as his brothers. As hard as she tried to conceal it from him, ashamed of her inability to do her duty as Queen and give Camelot an heir, Ygraine could never hide her distress at the news of the birth of a prince, whether it was Olaf’s son or the son of another ruler, while the royal nursery at Camelot remained empty. He was sure that he was not the only monarch to envy Olaf, with his fine family of princes lined up like ducklings and the future of his line secure, while other rulers counted themselves fortunate to have a child or two that survived infancy and grew up sound of mind and body. He thought that there was nothing he would not do if it meant that he could have a son, little realising the price he would have to pay.

Now, however, the strapping boys Olaf took such pride in were men, and the kingdom of Gwynedd, neither as large nor as prosperous as Camelot, was too small to support six grown princes. Now, Olaf was seeking wives for his brood, knowing that he needed to see his younger sons settled with ladies of means, and preferably for at least a couple of them to find wives in other kingdoms. It was the only way in which he could hope to see his sons provided for in a manner befitting their status without impoverishing the kingdom he would one day leave to Prince Olin, his eldest son.

Uther was aware that Olaf had approached Lord Godwyn already, hoping to see one of his sons married to the heiress of Gawant, but he was declined as diplomatically as possible.

Lord Godwyn was an old friend of Uther’s and they had always hoped that Arthur and Princess Elena would suit one another, when they were of an age to marry. Gawant bordered Camelot, which would have allowed the lands to merge, while providing the citizens of the much smaller and weaker Gawant with the protection that Camelot’s forces could give them. Such a union would have been of benefit to both kingdoms but, of course, that was when Arthur was expected to be King one day. Despite their long friendship, Uther knew that he couldn’t hold it against Godwyn if he wanted more than a knight for his daughter. He would have felt the same way, in his position.

King Rodor’s daughter would be another desirable match for one of the King Olaf’s sons, if her father had not already chosen somebody for her. Like Lord Godwyn, King Rodor had probably considered Arthur to be a most desirable match for his daughter when he was still a Prince, and may even have held off on committing his daughter elsewhere as long as he could hope that she might have Arthur, but he would now be looking to other candidates for his daughter’s hand.

As the soon to be Crown Princess of Camelot, Morgana was the greatest heiress in Albion.

There was no question but that Olaf would hope to see her marry one of his sons, or that this hope would be one he shared with other rulers. He might be the first to parade his sons for Uther’s approval, as there could be no other response to his letter than an invitation to bring his sons to Camelot for a visit, but there would be others to follow them and little time between bidding one suitor farewell and greeting another. He would have the pick of the princes Albion had to offer but the choice was one that would have to be made with great care, not only because the fathers of the princes who were not chosen could easily take offence and Camelot could not afford to alienate its neighbours, but because of Morgana’s likely reaction to the idea of being married off.

Although she resembled her mother physically, she was a Pendragon by nature; clever, independent, courageous, loyal to her friends and certain of her convictions but stubborn to a fault and far from inclined to bend to the wishes of those who tried to tell her what to do.

Had she been a boy, she would have had no qualms about challenging Arthur for the unspoken title of the best warrior in Camelot, and he couldn’t say that she wouldn’t have succeeded. She certainly would never have felt in any way obligated to defer to him simply because he was the Prince, as some of the knights made the mistake of thinking they ought to, before discovering that Arthur needed nobody to do him any favours in order for him to win.

When they were children, Arthur soon learned that, as far as Morgana was concerned, neither his royal title nor his two years seniority gave him licence to tell her what to do.

Another little girl would have been overawed by the prospect of being placed in the care of her King, and would have been very careful to behave perfectly once she was brought to her new home, heeding the warnings of her nurse that children should be seen and not heard, and unsure of where she stood and what might happen to her if she displeased her royal guardian but Morgana never let him overawe her. She fought him from the beginning, protesting that she wanted to return to Cornwall, insisting that her place was with her people and that she was old enough to be Lady of Cornwall, and making no secret of the fact that she resented him for Gorlois’ death. He never wanted her to fear him, and refused to allow her nurse to make her feel beholden to him. Even if she had not been his child, he would have done no less for Gorlois’ daughter.

At that age, her defiance was amusing rather than irritating, as it would be in an adult, and he knew that, if he wanted the obstinate little girl to like or respect him, he would have to earn it.

In many ways, it was refreshing to be confronted with somebody who refused to be overawed by him, and he couldn’t help but feel a measure of pride in the fact that, at ten, his daughter had more courage than most of the courtiers, who would never dare to argue with him.

After missing so many years of his daughter’s life, he had had no wish to see her leave him after just a handful of years, so he never pressed her when an offer was made for her hand, and was always secretly relieved when she told him that she had no interest in marrying her latest suitor. While no man who was not of noble birth, either with considerable estates of his own or the expectation of inheriting his father’s, had presumed to even hint that they were interested in her, he had not thought any of them good enough for her.

Had he raised her as his daughter from her infancy, she would have grown up understanding that it was part of her duty as a Princess of Camelot to marry the suitor chosen for her, and that her marriage would serve to bind an ally closer to him and to Arthur but, instead, she grew up calling another man ‘Father’. Gorlois had had the comparative luxury of being able to put his daughter’s future happiness first, instead of also having the welfare of a kingdom and its people to think of. He refused to consider agreeing to a betrothal on her behalf, though there were several offers, even before he died. He was content to let Morgana choose, when the time came, trusting that she would never fall for the charms of a fortune hunter, or any man who was unworthy of her. 

Uther had intended to do as Gorlois would have done, provided that the man Morgana chose was worthy of the honour of her hand, and had she chosen to remain unwed, he would never have pressed her to find a husband, but things were different now.

Camelot could not afford for the sole heiress to the throne to die a maiden any more than it could afford to alienate its neighbours if the Princess insisted on snubbing her suitors.

He had seen little of Morgana over the past fortnight, since the revelation that had rocked his family and the court. Both she and Arthur kept their distance, never sharing meals with him and never attending while he held court. The burns on Arthur’s hand had not yet healed to the point where he could wield a sword but that did not keep him from spending long hours on the training grounds, practicing with his left hand. Morgana spent most of her time either in her chambers or on outings to the lower town, when she could slip away without at least one or two of the ladies of the court attaching themselves to her, desperate to secure the friendship of the new heiress to the throne and little realising that Morgana would like them better if they didn’t crowd her. He respected their need for time and space to come to terms with the changes to their lives, and would have let Morgana be a little longer if it was not so vitally important that they discuss this issue.

When he knocked on the door of Morgana’s chambers, her maid was quick to open it.

“I am afraid that Princess Morgana is not receiving vis…” She launched into the prepared speech before looking up, and trailed off when she saw who he was. “Sire,” she greeted, alarmed to realise that she had almost sent the King of Camelot on his way. She dipped a hasty curtsey, glancing back into the room, as if seeking direction from Morgana. He couldn’t see beyond her but Morgana must have made some kind of gesture to indicate that it was alright for him to enter because the maid’s tense posture relaxed a fraction as she stepped back to admit him to the room.

“Leave us, girl,” he told her briskly, in no mood to listen to apologies or explanations for her greeting. In a way, it pleased him to see that his daughter’s maidservant was so devoted to her that she was willing to act as a buffer between her and the nobles that must be thronging to the door, even though at least a few of them were bound to be displeased that, having come to visit the princess, they could only speak to her maid, who was firm about turning them away. She must have been reasonably diplomatic about it too, as he had heard no complaints about the ill-mannered servant attending to his daughter. He could usually count on at least one or two complaints about Arthur’s servants when the boy was allowed to be around visiting nobles but Morgana’s maid was evidently better trained. “I am here to speak to my daughter.”

Faced with a direct command from the King, she could only curtsey and obediently withdraw.

“My lord,” Morgana’s voice was cool and her manner formal as she rose to greet him. She dipped a curtsey, a formality she rarely observed while they were alone. “Would you like to join me?” She gestured towards the chaise in front of the fire, staying on her feet until he was seated and preserving a careful distance between them. She didn’t ask why he was here, preferring to leave it to him to break the awkward silence that stretched between them.

“I have come to tell you that the preparations for your investiture are underway,” he told her, opting to begin with the somewhat more palatable news. “The ceremony is to take place in four days’ time, if you are agreeable to it. I think that a simple ceremony will be best. I don’t think that our guests will want to leave until after your investiture,” he pointed out, knowing that she would be as pleased to see the back of them as he was, and that none of them would willingly leave Camelot until they were certain that they would miss nothing if they returned to their homes.

Under other circumstances, it might have been quite pleasant to have a week or more of celebrations to mark the investiture of the heir, and he had had a programme of entertainments in mind to honour the new Crown Prince but, after what had happened, the last thing he wanted was to drag matters out any longer than he had to. He was hard-pressed not to bellow at those who sought to commiserate with him over Ygraine’s faithlessness to hold their tongues, and he had come perilously close to challenging one knight to a duel over his insulting remarks about both Ygraine and Arthur. He wouldn’t be able to stomach a week or more of celebrations appropriate for the investiture of the heir to the throne.

Thankfully, Morgana nodded her assent rather than taking offence at the idea that, while he had planned grand celebrations for Arthur’s investiture, hers was to be a simple, hurried ceremony.

“Geoffrey will go over the details of the ceremony with you, if you wish,” Uther continued. “If you have any questions about what’s expected of you, he can answer them for you.”

“I’ll be sure to speak to him, if I need to,” Morgana responded, refraining from pointing out that she had an excellent idea of what was expected of her after watching Arthur go through the motions of the same ceremony. “And I don’t want any fuss either.”

Uther nodded agreement, grateful that they were of one mind where the question of her investiture was concerned. “There is another matter,” he began, hating to broach the subject of Sir Cador and his claim to Cornwall with her, especially when she was still accustoming herself to her new position but knowing that he had little alternative, if they wanted the man to leave. “Sir Cador has approached me about his position in Cornwall. As you know, he has served as steward since Gorlois died and was charged with administering your lands on your behalf, until you marry. In light of the recent revelation, however, he has asked that his position in Cornwall be clarified.”

“Asked?” Morgana raised an eyebrow, knowing better than to think that her cousin… Gorlois’ cousin, would content himself with _asking_.

“Demanded,” Uther corrected himself, grateful that Gaius had hustled Morgana out of the Great Hall before she could hear Cador’s angry denunciation of her as a bastard, or his allegations that Uther had forced Gorlois to name her his heir against his will. He had no intention of allowing Cador to come near her until he was confident that the man would hold his tongue. One insult and the man would find that, far from being a lord, he would be fortunate if he was not left to muck out pig sties for the rest of his life. “He has laid claim to Cornwall, as Gorlois’ closest kinsman and wishes to be named Lord of the territory.”

“I see.”

“I am not going to ask you to give up Cornwall,” Uther said firmly, unwilling to force his daughter to surrender the land that the man who raised her, the man she probably still saw as her true father, had bequeathed her. If it came to it, he could see to it that Sir Cador was named Lord of other lands rather than forcing Morgana’s hand on the subject. That should be enough to pacify him. “I never asked Gorlois to name you his heir; we never even spoke of the matter. It was his choice to leave everything he had to you, though he knew that he had not fathered you. You are under no obligation to give any of it up and I will not ask you to. It is yours.”

Morgana would have pointed out that the fact that he was broaching the subject with her at all made it clear that he would rather that she renounced her claim but she had a good idea of why he needed to raise the issue, and did not want to make it more difficult for him.

“Father named me his heir because he wanted me to be provided for,” she said, seeing Uther’s wince at her use of the word ‘father’ to describe another man. “He didn’t expect that you would acknowledge me and he never imagined that I would be your heir. Had he known, he would have left his lands to Cador.” At least, she supposed that he would have; she was only ten when he died, and had no idea how he felt about his cousin and whether he would have wished to see him as Lord of Cornwall. She could only assume that, if not for his concern for her future welfare, he would have wanted to see his family’s ancestral lands pass to his blood kin.

“I would have seen to it that you were provided for, no matter what happened,” Uther said stiffly, wanting the record to be set straight in that regard. Gorlois might have left Cornwall to Morgana but he had never sought to fund her expenses from her revenues, which were kept for her use. “Gorlois knew that, if anything happened to him, I would raise you and treat you in a manner befitting my daughter.”

Part of Morgana felt indignant at his words, angry that he should think that he deserved praise for taking in his daughter and seeing to it that she was treated as a daughter of the King’s should be treated but she also knew that, however much she might dislike it, he could have chosen not to and nobody would have condemned him for it. If he wished, he could have bundled her off to be educated in the nearest nunnery and forgotten about her, or he could have married her off to the first lord who expressed the slightest interest in her, regardless of her preferences.

He had tried to do right by her.

“I think that the best thing I can do is renounce my claim to Cornwall in favour of Sir Cador,” she said, not missing the relief in Uther’s eyes at her words. “I can’t give the land or its people the attention they need from their vassal lord if I am also to be Queen of Camelot one day, so somebody else would have to be chosen to govern Cornwall in any case. Sir Cador has the best claim by blood, and he has done an admirable job as steward. The people of Cornwall will welcome him as their Lord.” It would probably come as a relief to them to know that Cador was to be their Lord; he was the one who saw to their needs over the past decade and she imagined that they would not have been eager to see her arrive at Tintagel with a husband in tow, expecting to assume control of territory that she last set foot in at the age of ten. This way, the people of Cornwall would be well cared for and, instead of making an enemy of Sir Cador and alienating those who believed his claim to be a just one, she would gain a friend.

“That is a wise choice,” Uther said, pleased to see that Morgana could think of the issue - which he knew must be dear to her heart, as Cornwall was all she had left of Gorlois - with a sufficiently dispassionate eye to allow her to recognise what was in the best interests of his people. “I will ask Geoffrey to draw up the necessary papers, and will tell Sir Cador, unless you want to give him the good news,” he added, feeling confident that, however much Sir Cador might have railed at the idea of being denied the lordship of Cornwall in favour of a rival who was not even the daughter of his kinsman, he would be nothing but gracious to the bearer of such glad tidings.

“You can tell him.”

“As you wish. I know that he will be glad to hear the news. There’s one more matter that we need to discuss. After your investiture, I will be inviting King Olaf to pay us a visit,” Uther ploughed on, deeming it best to lay his cards on the table rather than holding back any longer. “With his sons.”

Morgana stiffened visibly at his words, instantly understanding why King Olaf and his sons were to visit but she still wanted to make him give voice to the reason. “Why, my lord?” she asked, affecting innocence, as though she had no idea why they should want to visit Camelot.

“You know why.”

“Yes,” she agreed, scowling at him. “You’re going to marry me off and King Olaf is coming to inspect me to decide if he wants me for one of his sons.”

She knew that she should have expected this.

It was rare for a lady of noble birth, let alone royal, to reach her age without being betrothed, if not married. She had enjoyed her freedom longer than most girls of her station did but that made it no easier to think of being bartered off in marriage. She might sometimes chafe at the confines of her life as Uther’s ward… daughter… but she knew that, for the most part, he was a loving and indulgent guardian. A husband might not be so tolerant of her sharp tongue, much less her determination to practice her swordplay.

“I think that you’ll find that you and I are the ones who will be doing the inspecting, my dear,” Uther told her dryly. “By now, there is not a monarch in Albion who doesn’t know that you are my heir, and that makes you the most desirable prospective bride in the Five Kingdoms, whether you like it or not. King Olaf is the first to present his sons, but they won’t be the last suitors offered for your hand. There is no obligation for you to be married to one of Olaf’s boys.”

“And what if I don’t want to marry any of them?” Morgana asked challengingly, meeting his gaze directly, as though daring him to tell her that he intended to force her to marry, whether she wished to or not. ”Will you clap me in irons again, or have me dragged to the altar?”

“Neither,” Uther told her coolly. “I have faith that you would never endanger Camelot by insulting our allies or by jeopardising the future stability of the kingdom. You are the only child of my bloodline so you must continue the Pendragon line, or this kingdom will fall apart. The people, the nobles in particular, will expect an heir of our bloodline to follow you on the throne. Nothing less will satisfy them. If you do not have a child, then this kingdom will be torn apart again. You will not allow that to happen because you know what a civil war would do to Camelot.”

When she first came to Camelot as his ward, one or two noble matrons approached him to voice concerns about his plan to educate little Lady Morgana with Prince Arthur, opining that too much study could do a girl no good, and might even harm her if she was pushed to overtax her mind. Uther paid no attention to them, refusing to neglect his daughter’s education and he was doubly glad of that now, as it meant that she was versed in the history of Albion, and knew the likely outcome if the Pendragon dynasty was allowed to die out, and those nobles who had accepted his rule when he united the kingdom broke away, trying to rule over holdings that were too small to be truly independent and that would be absorbed by neighbouring kingdoms, sooner or later.

If Morgana gave him no grandchildren, the kingdom he built would be no more than a memory within a few generations, at most.

Morgana nodded involuntarily, hating that he was right, that there was no option for her to remain unwed if she did not wish to see Camelot fall after her death.

“Why does it have to be a King’s son? There are knights at court who would make good husbands.”

She never had much time for the knights who occasionally drummed up the courage to ask her for the honour of a dance, or who pleaded to be granted the great privilege of wearing her favour but she _knew_ them, and was reasonably confident that she could find one who would be tolerable company and too overawed by her to try to rule Camelot through her. One of the four commoners who were recently knighted would be out of the question, of course, as the nobility would never accept such a one as her consort but there were plenty of young men of noble birth at court.

“There are, and if there is somebody that you truly want, we can consider him.” He paused for a moment, waiting to see if she would name a suitable young man, one he could present to the court and his fellow monarchs as his future son-in-law without them rejecting him as unworthy but she just shook her head slightly to indicate that there was nobody she had in mind. “If there is nobody you like, we cannot afford to be seen to snub the Kings who will offer their sons for you,” he pointed out gently. ”It would be one thing if you were betrothed before you became my heir, or if we could say that you were but, under the circumstances, we must be seen to consider the merits of each suitor on offer before making a choice. There are some who would not take it well if their candidate was rejected in favour of one who was not of royal blood.” If there were one or two who were sentimental enough to be sympathetic to the idea of a love match, the majority of the royals in Albion would find it incomprehensible, and more than a little insulting, if a prince was rejected in favour of somebody they deemed less worthy of the hand of the future Queen of Camelot.

“You didn’t marry a princess,” Morgana argued. “ _You_ were able to choose, and married for love.”

“No, I didn’t.” Morgana scoffed at his words, looking ready to argue with him, to remind him that it was no secret that Ygraine was the love of his life but he continued before she could voice her objections. “Before I took the throne, no King in his right mind would have allowed his daughter to marry me, or even consented to a betrothal. It was too much of a gamble. I needed to consolidate support among the noble families before I had a hope of being able to unite this kingdom under my rule. Gorlois was my friend, and I had his support without him asking anything in return but others expected their loyalty to be suitably rewarded, and certain concessions had to be made.”

Chief among them the First Code of Camelot, instituted to ensure that the position of power and privilege enjoyed by the noble families who supported him would be protected, and that he could not hope to dilute their status by raising a few dozen commoners to the nobility.

“The de Bois family was an old one, and Arthur’s grandfather had a substantial number of men under his command. I needed his support if I wanted to reclaim our family’s ancestral right to the throne of Camelot, and he had an unmarried daughter he wished to see become Queen. It was the price of his support, and I agreed to pay it. I saw Ygraine only once before our wedding day, and we had no chance to speak before we were man and wife. I was blessed. I came to love my wife but I did not marry her out of love, I married her out of duty. Had a better match been offered to me - a princess, or the daughter of a more powerful lord - I would have married her instead, even if I had already come to love Ygraine. I knew that Camelot must come first.”

He had not spoken of this to anybody before, least of all Arthur.

When Arthur was younger, he loved to hear the story of his parents, how much they had loved one another, and how overjoyed they were when they learned that they were to have a baby. Uther found it difficult to speak of Ygraine, even to their son… perhaps especially to their son, particularly as he never wanted to let him know of how she died… but Arthur’s nurses were eager to tell him about her, so he could know of the wonderful, loving woman who brought him into the world. He was grateful to them for it and could never have brought himself to dampen the comfort Arthur took in their stories about his mother by letting him know that the true story of how his parents’ marriage came to be was less romantic than he had been led to believe.

Morgana was silent, her expression sombre as she listened to his words.

“The first thing that you must learn if you are to be Queen is that a ruler has a duty to his or her kingdom and people. It cannot be a question of what you want for yourself. The right alliance by marriage will make Camelot stronger. That is what you need to keep in mind. It can be difficult but you have a responsibility to do everything in your power to keep your people safe, from threats within Camelot and without. Peace in Albion was difficult to achieve, and decades in the making, and it could be shattered, all too easily, if we cannot maintain the friendship of our allies. This is not what I had intended for you,” he continued, speaking more gently this time. “I thought that this would be Arthur’s burden to shoulder but it falls to you now.”

“I understand that I can’t stay unmarried.” As little as she liked the idea of taking a husband, she had to concede that it was necessary for her to give Camelot an heir and also that it would be foolish, perhaps even dangerous for her to scorn all of the princes who vied for her hand. However, the idea of being bartered off in marriage to a man not of her choosing was repugnant, even if it was the expected fate of a woman in her position. “But I...”

“I don’t expect you to marry straight away,” Uther cut her off. “It will be expected that each candidate should have a chance to make his suit before a final choice is made. What I do expect from you is that, when King Olaf and his sons arrive, you will be cordial and not try to scare them off.” He knew that, if she set her mind to it, she would be quite capable of driving any suitors away, and Olaf would certainly take great offence if his sons were rudely dismissed. They were fortunate that he had not held a grudge over Arthur’s tryst with Lady Vivian. He would not soon forgive a second slight. “Give them a chance. It may be that there will be one you like.”

His marriage was arranged but had brought him great joy, second only to the joy he took in his children. He could only hope and pray that Morgana could find the same happiness in her marriage.

“Does it matter which one I like or dislike?” Morgana asked bitterly. “You’ll choose him.”

Uther took a few minutes to consider her words, and to reconcile the need to forge a strong alliance for the sake of Camelot with his desire to see his daughter happy.

He could never force her into a match with a man she could never grow to like, if not love.

“Perhaps we could reach a compromise,” he offered at last, breaking the silence that stretched between them. “I will promise not commit you to any match without discussing it with you first, and you promise to give any suitors a chance. We will discuss the merits of each suitor together. Once we know who is available, I will make a list of the most promising matches, and you make the choice about which one you prefer - provided that there is no one match that is vastly better than the others,” he added, wanting to cover all possibilities. “Do you agree to this?”

“I don’t have much of a choice, do I?” Morgana didn’t expect him to answer her question, and didn’t want him to. Under the circumstances, it was the best she could hope for, given that she couldn’t justify forsaking her duty to the kingdom and people she would one day rule in order to please herself, even if there was somebody she wanted to marry. “I accept, my lord.”

Uther would have liked to draw her into his embrace, and to hear her call him ‘Father’, or even his name, rather than the distant, formal ‘my lord’ but he knew that it was too soon for that.

She needed time and space and he owed it to her to give her that much.

“I will write to Olaf to arrange a visit a few weeks from now,” he told her. “That will give us enough time to have your investiture before they arrive, and to make preparations.” Any longer, and Olaf might grow impatient, wondering if he was being fobbed off because Uther wanted somebody else for Morgana. Any shorter and their current guests would find excuses to stay on, so that they might watch the royal courtships in progress, which was the last thing he needed or wanted.

“I will be ready to receive them, my lord.”

“Good.” There was another silence and, feeling awkward, Uther rose to his feet, motioning to Morgana to remain where she was. “If you will excuse me, my child.”

He was halfway to the door before he turned back.

“Morgana?” He waited for her to look up and meet his gaze before continuing. “I’m proud of you. When the time comes, I’m sure that you will be a fine Queen.”

* * *

Arthur’s hand was healing well and more quickly than he would have thought it would, a tribute to Gaius’ skill as a physician, but it was not yet ready to wield a sword. Gaius examined his hand and changed the dressing on a daily basis, cautioning him to take care and to give it the time it needed to heal, gently reminding him that he was by far the greatest warrior in Camelot and that his skills would not desert him if he took it easy for a few more weeks, instead of risking further damage by pushing himself too hard. Under other circumstances, Arthur would have heeded his words, at least for a time, but he was aware that at least half of the nobles at court must expect him to hide away, ashamed that he was now known to be a bastard, and he had no intention of giving them the satisfaction of being able to gloat that he was afraid to show his face in public.

He had done nothing wrong, just as his mother had done nothing wrong, and he refused to act as though they had. He had nothing to be ashamed of and would not pretend that he did.

He took less than a week to return to the training ground with the knights, as usual.

He blessed Sir Ector, the knight who had trained him as a boy, before he was old enough to be a squire, for insisting that he learn to wield a sword with his left hand as well as with his right, warning him that he could never know when such flexibility might mean the difference between life and death. As a boy, he chafed at the long hours of practice, especially as Sir Ector expected him to fight opponents who used their right hands, ignoring any protest he might make at the unfairness of it, save to point out that there was rarely any fairness to be found in the midst of battle. He hated the way his sword felt heavy and awkward in his left hand, a burden rather than the smooth extension of his body it usually was, and he always felt ashamed and unworthy when he was defeated, certain that his father would be disappointed in him when he heard of his failure, despite the fact that he was set at a clear disadvantage. Now, however, was glad of it, glad that, if he was not a great swordsman when left-handed, his fighting skills were still above average.

His opponent, Sir Jasper, was not among the most skilled of the knights, having passed his challenge by the skin of his teeth. He would not have passed at all, had he not taken the trials when Arthur was away on a patrol, as the knight chosen as his opponent was not as skilled a warrior by half, allowing Sir Jasper to last the required minute in combat to earn a knighthood. Arthur had had his suspicions that the timing was intentional, as Sir Jasper’s father was a valued member of the King’s Council, and known to be easily offended by any slight to his kin. He would not have taken kindly to being told that there was no place for any son of his in the ranks of the knights of Camelot. Sir Jasper did well enough with his duties in the citadel but Arthur would not have wanted to rely on the man to defend his back in battle.

Sir Jasper’s face was tinged with pink and he was perspiring heavily, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Although he was doing quite well to begin with, grinning whenever he thought he had the upper hand, clearly delighted to be seen to triumph over the man who won every tournament since he was of an age to enter them, he had tired more quickly than Arthur, and the strain was showing. He stumbled when Arthur parried his blows and pressed his advantage, steadily gaining ground. As Arthur began to gain the upper hand, Sir Jasper became more flustered and more careless, especially once he realised that at least half of the knights had abandoned their own sparring matches to watch them. Under normal circumstances, there was no shame in being defeated by Arthur, who was widely acknowledged to be one of the finest swordsmen in Albion, but it was another matter entirely to be seen to be defeated by an injured man.

He lunged forward, swiping his sword haphazardly in a final, desperate attempt at victory. Arthur dodged him neatly and the force of Sir Jasper’s lunge sent him sprawling, face-down in the mud.

Even as Arthur reached out a hand to help him up, he could hear the chuckles of several of his knights behind him. There was no true malice in the laughter - there were few knights who had yet to have an embarrassing fall during their training sessions and, even when Arthur was still the Prince, they would have been as quick to laugh at him as they were to laugh at Sir Jasper now - but the fallen knight’s face flushed with anger and he slapped Arthur’s hand away, scrambling to his feet unaided and standing face to face with him, glowering.

“I don’t need any help from the likes of _you_ ,” he snarled, his cheeks turning almost puce with rage at the realisation that his reaction had ensured that any of the knights who hadn’t been focusing on him and Arthur rather than on their own training now had their eyes glued to them.

“It looks to me like you could use all of the help you can get,” Elyan put in, before Arthur could answer, taking umbrage at the way the other knight spoke to him. 

It was times like this that the First Code of Camelot seemed like nothing short of madness to him. A spoilt nobleman like Sir Jasper could count on his way into the ranks of Camelot’s elite being smoothed because of who his father was, while commoners who could easily defeat him were denied the chance to even try to earn a knighthood as their birth rendered them ineligible to take the trials. He was under no illusions about King Uther agreeing to bestow knighthoods on any other commoners in future, much less that he might one day allow them to enjoy the same noble status as other knights did. He had already done more than he was comfortable with, and it was no secret that he still had lords complaining about his decision to bend the First Code.

Arthur would have changed things when he was King but he would never have the chance to do so now and, while Guinevere spoke highly of Morgana, insisting that she treated her as a friend rather than a servant, Elyan was not convinced that she would make things better.

“Personally, I think that he’s beyond help,” Gwaine opined with his customary lack of tact. His tone and expression were scornful as he regarded the fuming Sir Jasper. “I’ve seen boys in the lower town who have better technique than he does. I say we find him a wooden stick and see if we can find a lad who is willing to train him... if there’s one foolish enough to take on the job.”

“That’s enough!” Arthur cut in, knowing that Sir Jasper was even prouder than his father and that he had a hot temper when he was roused. If he had hoped that his intervention would calm the other man down, he was doomed to be disappointed as Sir Jasper ignored his words entirely, focusing his ire on Gwaine and Elyan, livid that they should presume to criticise him.

“How dare you speak to your better like that? It was a sorry day for this kingdom when the likes of you were allowed to call yourselves Knights of Camelot. Who would have thought that a drunkard and a traitor’s son would ever be allowed to wear this armour? The _commoner knights_!” He all but spat the derisive term at them, too caught up in his rant to notice the black scowl on Elyan’s face at the reference to his father or that the only thing keeping him from attacking him was Percival’s restraining hand. “You’ll make this kingdom the laughing stock of the Five Kingdoms when they know the scum who were allowed to join this once proud company!”

“Sir Jasper!” The clear ring of authority in Arthur’s voice was enough to silence the man, at least long enough for him to get a word in edge ways. “The Knights of Camelot are brothers in arms,” he reminded him frostily. He was pleased to hear that most of knights made their approval of his words known by seconding his words or applauding him briefly. It was a relief to know that, while Sir Jasper might be a fool, he also in the minority. “Sir Elyan and Sir Gwaine earned the right to call themselves knights, as did Sir Lancelot and Sir Percival.” He was sorely tempted to point out that each of them had already done more to prove themselves worthy of inclusion in the ranks of the Knights of Camelot than Sir Jasper had ever done, or was ever likely to do but managed to resist the urge to do so. “It is by our deeds that we distinguish ourselves, not by our birth.”

“I’m sure that you would like to believe that,” Sir Jasper said condescendingly. “Now that we all know the truth about you, _bastard_.”

“You are speaking to your commander,” Sir Leon reminded him. He did not raise his voice but his words still cut through the indignant cries of many of his fellow knights at Sir Jasper’s disrespect. There was more than one man who would be happy to give him a sound thrashing for it if Arthur didn’t but Leon hoped to calm the situation before a brawl could break out. “I advise you to remember that, and to show Sir Arthur the respect he is due.”

“Since when is a bastard due any respect?” Sir Jasper demanded, offended at the idea that he, the legitimate son of one of the great lords of Camelot, should be expected to show respect to anybody he considered to be beneath him. 

“Maybe you should ask Princess Morgana that question,” Gwaine suggested sharply, his eyes narrowing and his hand tightening around the hilt of his sword. “Or the King... if you dare.”

“That’s different,” Sir Jasper insisted. “Princess Morgana is the daughter of a king. Who knows who fathered _Sir_ Arthur?” He laid a pointed emphasis on the title, though Arthur couldn’t tell whether he intended to stress that he was no longer entitled to call himself Prince, to express dissatisfaction that he was still allowed to remain a knight, or both. “His mother could have taken any servant or ruffian to her bed, taking advantage of the King’s trust in her.”

Arthur would have thrown his gauntlet at the man, uncaring of his injury, had Lancelot not reached out to lay a hand on his arm, shaking his head and not letting go until he saw his tense posture relax a fraction. He wanted so badly to defend his mother’s honour but he knew that it would not matter how many idiots he challenged when they dared to slander her, or how many duels he won. There was nothing he could do that would clear his mother of the charge of adultery.

Sir Jasper had no better sense than to take his silence for an invitation to continue. 

“Whoever his father was, he was too much of a coward to claim him. We can be sure that he was no man of honour. He let his mother fob him off on the King and let everybody think that his brat was a prince - he’d have been King one day if he wasn’t discovered! And he won’t be our commander much longer. The King will be looking to find a husband for Princess Morgana soon, if he hasn’t chosen one already, and when she marries, her husband will take command of the army, so we can have a prince lead us, not a bastard. And that’s if the King doesn’t take the job from him before then. Nobody would fault him for it. I don’t know why he hasn’t already!”

“Why don’t you ask him?” a cold, familiar voice suggested. 

The colour drained from Sir Jasper’s flushed face as the crowd of knights parted to allow the King to pass. “Sire,” he mumbled a greeting before bowing deeply, his bravado deserting him.

“It’s been quite some time since I observed the knights training,” Uther said, sounding almost genial. “I thought that today was as good a day as any to visit the training grounds. I had hoped that I would be able to see you in action, and to decide who should take part in a demonstration of skill for the benefit of King Olaf, when he visits. I had it in mind that perhaps there might be a friendly tournament. His sons are keen fighters but I am sure that Camelot’s best can match them easily. I didn’t expect that I was also to have the privilege of hearing how I ought to run my kingdom.” His smile was broad and utterly devoid of humour and good will. “Please continue, Sir Jasper,” he invited. “I am anxious to hear how you would have me improve matters in Camelot.”

A sensible man would have known how vital it was that he not dig himself into a deeper hole than the one in which he was already standing.

A sensible man would have taken one look at the King’s angry expression and known to hold his tongue, save to apologise profusely for his hasty, ill-chosen words and to insist that he mean no harm or disrespect. If he could, he would claim that he was overcome by the heat of the day, or that he had too much drink taken and didn’t know what he was saying, even if he was completely sober, anything that might give him a chance at having the King disregard his comments and take no further action against him for them.

Sir Jasper was not a sensible man.

“I don’t think that Sir Arthur has any business commanding the knights, Sire,” he said, speaking more courageously than those who knew him would have thought possible. “I think that we should have a new leader, a man whose command we can respect. It’s not right that we should be expected to follow the lead of the Lady Ygraine’s bastard son.”

“And who do you have in mind, Sir Jasper?” Uther asked, looking as interested as though he deemed the man’s opinion to be of vital importance. “Yourself?”

“No, Sire, not I!” Sir Jasper protested at once, not wanting the King to think that his words were born of ambition. “I am but a few years from my knighting and I lack experience.”

“That’s not all you lack.”

The proof of the King’s feelings on the matter was clear to see in the fact that, not only did he not rebuke Gwaine for his comment, angry that a commoner, even a knighted one, should presume to interject his remarks when the King and a noble were conversing, he chuckled at his words.

However tempted Sir Jasper might be to snap at Gwaine, he maintained enough self-control to know that he could not waste this opportunity to air his views by losing his temper and exhausting the King’s patience with him. “There are other knights who would make fine leaders, men of skill and experience. Sir Leon is a great warrior, of an old and noble house, and he has served Camelot loyally these many years. I could serve under the command of such a knight with pride.”

Far from looking pleased by the compliment, Leon glared at his fellow knight, disgusted by his lack of loyalty to his commander and furious that he should drag his name into it.

“I see,” Uther said thoughtfully, regarding Leon with a keen gaze, as though sizing him up as a potential commander. “Would you accept command of the Knights of Camelot, Sir Leon?”

“No, Sire,” Leon did not hesitate an instant before replying. “Sir Arthur is the finest knight I have ever known. I am proud to serve under his command.”

Despite his anger over the way Sir Jasper spoke of his mother, and over the whole situation, Arthur couldn’t help but smile at Leon’s profession of loyalty. 

In the days immediately following his aborted investiture and the revelation that had rocked the court, he had not wanted to see anybody and was glad to have his injury as an excuse to remain in his quarters, attended by Merlin and with Gaius as his only other visitor. However, that had not been enough to keep Gwaine away and he turned up on the second day, with Lancelot, Elyan and Percival in tow, announcing that one day was enough time to wallow. All four had made it very clear that it made no difference to them that he was no longer the Prince of Camelot, they were still proud to call him their friend and to serve with him. Leon was the first knight of noble blood to pledge that same friendship and loyalty so openly and he would never forget it.

“I see.” Uther gave Sir Jasper a mock-apologetic look. “It seems that Sir Leon is unwilling to assume command of the knights, Sir Jasper. You must nominate another candidate.” He waited a few moments and, when Sir Jasper, realising how this scene was going to play out, refrained from naming another knight, he pressed him further. “Come now, Sir Jasper, you have said that Sir Arthur is unfit to command the knights. You must have other potential commanders in mind besides Sir Leon; he cannot be the only one you deem worthy of serving. Name another man.”

There could be no mistaking it for anything other than a command and Sir Jasper scanned the ranks of the knights before him, hoping to find somebody who wasn’t regarding him with unconcealed hostility, somebody who would be grateful to be named as a worthy choice to lead the knights, and who would remember who had helped him gain the position. Finding nobody who looked as though he might want to be named commander, or even one who might back him up and insist that they too were unwilling to accept Arthur as their commander, and many who looked as though they would happily thrash him for dragging their names into it, he kept his eyes glued to the ground in front of him as he muttered the first name that came to mind. 

“Sir Lamorak,” Uther made a show of mulling over the choice before meeting the gaze of the named knight, who was not pleased to have attention drawn to him. “You are a fine man and a skilled warrior - you lasted until the second to last round of our last tournament, I believe, and acquitted yourself very well before Sir Arthur defeated you. And your birth is clearly good enough for Sir Jasper to be willing to follow your command. Would you consent to take command?” 

“I would not. I am loyal to Sir Arthur.” The response was prompt and left no room for argument. If anything, the expression on Sir Lamorak’s face indicated that the next time he encountered Sir Jasper alone, the other man would not escape without bruises.

Uther did not bother trying to conceal his pleasure at Sir Lamorak’s words, or his pride in the loyalty Arthur inspired in his men. It would have served him well as King but, if that was not to be, he could at least be confident that, with one foolish exception, they would gladly accept him as commander of the army, recognising that they were fortunate in their leader.

He could have kept going, forcing Sir Jasper to name other knights and to hear those knights refuse to accept command and profess their loyalty to Arthur, one by one, but he could see by the expression on the man’s face that he knew better than to imagine that he might find one among them who would take his part. Sir Jasper stood alone and he knew it.

“Perhaps Sir Jasper is being too modest,” Uther said, addressing the knights and barely sparing a glance for the scarlet, fuming Sir Jasper. “Perhaps he has it in him to command the Knights of Camelot, after all. Perhaps there are some among you who agree with him that Sir Arthur is unworthy of command, and who would be pleased to see Sir Jasper take his place. I command that all of you who would be prepared to accept Sir Jasper as commander should take one pace forward and be counted.”

As a body, the knights took one pace backwards.

Gwaine kept going, as though to emphasise his disgust, all but jogging backwards.

This time, Uther didn’t bother to hide his amusement, laughing openly at Gwaine’s antics. He would be lying if he claimed not to have his doubts about the kind of knight this man, who reportedly spent most of his free time in the tavern, would prove to be but there could be no denying that he had a flair for making his feelings plain, and his loyalty to Arthur counted for a great deal.

“It seems that nobody is prepared to accept your command, Sir Jasper,” Uther told him, pleased to see the man squirm. “And if Sir Gwaine objects to the idea much more, he will knock over the sword rack,” he raised his voice in warning before Gwaine could topple it and, while the man stopped, he made no move to take a step in Sir Jasper’s direction, seemingly content to watch the rest of the show from a distance. “As it appears that Sir Arthur will be retaining his command, perhaps you would care to explain your objections to my stepson’s leadership. I am certain that Sir Arthur is eager to hear any suggestions you have to offer about how he may improve as a leader, so that you can bring yourself to serve under his command.”

If Sir Jasper was in a foul mood before Uther’s arrival on the scene, it was nothing compared to the mood he was in after being subjected to such an embarrassing scene.

“There is nothing he can do to change the fact that he is a bastard!” Sir Jasper exclaimed. “It was all well and good to name him commander when he was the Prince, everybody could understand why you would want him to have the position _then_ but he is a prince no longer, even if he refuses to do the decent thing and step down. Everybody else might want to pretend that nothing has changed but I refuse to lower myself to following the bastard son of a traitorous whore!”

“I accept your resignation.” Uther’s voice was granite hard and ice cold, sending shivers of fear down the spines of every man present, even those who knew that they had done nothing to offend him. Just a few short weeks ago, a man could have been beheaded if he dared to speak so about the Prince of Camelot and the late Queen and, while he could not prosecute Sir Jasper for treason, he had no intention of allowing him to go unpunished.

“M-my r-resig…” Sir Jasper stammered numbly, shocked by the turn things had taken.

“Naturally. You will not follow Sir Arthur’s command and, as I intend for him to retain command of the knights for as long as he is willing to serve in that capacity, there is no place among the Knights of Camelot for anybody who will not accept his leadership. Please rest assured that your absence will not be a loss, _Jasper_ ,” he stressed his use of the man’s name, without any title attached. As he was not his father’s first son, he would not inherit the title of Lord. “It cannot be said that you have covered yourself in glory during your career as a knight. Perhaps your father can find a use for you. There is no need for you to delay your departure. Pack your bags and be out of the citadel by nightfall. You are dismissed.”

Jasper departed, too stunned to argue or to plead for a second chance.

None of the knights spoke a word of farewell to him.

“A word, Sir Arthur?” Uther beckoned to him and they moved away. “Are there any others who have been giving you trouble?” he asked, as soon as they were out of earshot. Jasper might have been the only one who was brave or stupid enough to challenge his commander’s leadership in the presence of the King but if there was anybody else who was showing any signs of insubordination, he intended to deal with it now rather than letting it fester. He had already stripped one man of his knighthood and had no objection to doing likewise with any other troublemakers.

“No, Sire, I believe that everybody else is loyal. If there are problems in the future, I can deal with them, as I ought to.” 

He was not yet of age when he took command of Camelot’s military forces and, at the time, there were a few older, more experienced knights who were dubious about the prospect of serving under the command of so young a man, believing that he had only been given the position because he was the Prince, and his father wanted him to gain experience as a leader of men. In those days, his father left him to deal with any problems by himself, refusing to intervene even when Arthur complained about the way some of the knights behaved towards him, always reminding him that if he wanted the respect of the men, he would have to earn it and that he could not hope to do so if he had to seek his father’s help whenever he encountered a difficulty. 

If there were any other problems with the knights, he would deal with it rather than looking to the King to resolve matters for him.

“If you will excuse me, Sire,” he bowed, determined to observe the formalities. “I must return to training.”

“Of course,” Uther nodded permission but, when Arthur turned to leave, his hand shot out, catching his son by the arm. “I did not name you commander because you were my son,” he told him. “You were young for the job but you were the finest warrior in Camelot and I knew that you would rise to the challenge. I have never had cause to regret my decision, and I know that you will always do me and Camelot proud. I can think of no better man to lead my army.”

“At least until you marry Morgana off,” Arthur remarked bitterly. Jasper might have been a fool but he was right about one thing; when the time came for Morgana to marry, her husband, whoever he might be, was bound to think that he should be given command of Camelot’s military forces. It would be seen as a snub for him to be denied command, a sign that he was not trusted. “You’ll make a royal match for her, and a prince will expect to be placed in command.”

“Perhaps,” Uther allowed, inwardly resolving to ensure that those who offered their sons as suitors for Morgana would understand that command of Camelot’s military forces would not come with the hand of its princess. There was no man in Albion he would sooner see in command than Arthur. His future son-in-law could be second-in-command, if he proved worthy of it, but Arthur would retain his command of the army for as long as Uther had any say in the matter.

“There’s no ‘perhaps’ about it. You have no son, so your future son-in-law will expect command.”

“I have a son,” Uther said quietly but so firmly that even Arthur did not dare to argue with him. “You may not have my blood in your veins but you _are_ my son. You have been my son since the day your mother told me that she carried you. I may not be able to leave my kingdom to you, and I may no longer allow you to be called Prince but I swear to you that I will do everything in my power to see to it that you lose nothing else. You will be treated with the honour due to my stepson, and you will take your place by my side before the court from now on.”

If nothing else, Jasper had shown that it was essential that he make a public show of the fact that he considered Arthur to still be a member of the royal family, if he did not want to have others questioning his right to his position.

“It wouldn’t be fitting for me to…” Arthur began to argue but he was given no chance.

“Morgana was always treated as a princess and as part of our family, before anybody knew that she was my daughter,” Uther pointed out. “Did you think that wasn’t fitting?”

“I told you that you should put her in the stocks for being rude to me,” Arthur pointed out, smiling despite himself at the memory of how outraged he was when his new foster sister proved herself willing to tell him exactly what she thought of him when she saw him berating one of the servants. It was the first time in his life that anybody other than his father spoke to him without the degree of deference deemed appropriate to his rank and he had not enjoyed the experience one bit, dragging her along to his father’s study to voice his indignation about her behaviour.

“And I told you what punishment you could expect if you ever said anything like that again,” Uther countered. “You will have your place in this family, and command of the army for as long as you want it. Anybody who has a problem with it will answer to me.”

Part of Arthur wanted to hug him, to tell him that he understood why there was no alternative but that Morgana take the throne and even that he understood why he was not going to say a word about the true circumstances of his birth. He wanted to tell him how much it meant to him to know that his place in the family was safe and that he still regarded Uther as his father. However, another part of him was still angry with his father for all that he had lost, and for the slurs attached to his name and his mother’s thanks to him. He was angry that he was to lose the life he had expected to lead, through no fault of his own, and Uther’s promises seemed inadequate.

For now, that part won out.

He bowed again, bidding Uther a frosty farewell before returning to his training session.

Uther stood alone, watching the knights train for a few minutes before he turned away and slowly made his way back inside the palace.

* * *

When Morgause was a child, the Isle of the Blessed was a place of beauty, the dwelling of the priestesses of the Triple Goddess more splendid than any palace. 

She grew up in the heart of a community of women who dedicated themselves to the Old Religion and, as the only child in their midst, she never lacked for arms to cradle her, hands to tend to her needs and caress her, or kind faces to smile down on her while they slipped her little treats. Once she was old enough to begin her first lessons in magic, it seemed that every priestess was watching her progress eagerly, applauding her achievements and patiently helping her when she had difficulties. There was never anybody who was too busy to teach her and, even as a child, she was encouraged to voice her opinions. Even if she had not been taken from her mother when she was just a baby, too young to remember her, she couldn’t imagine that she would miss her.

Things might have been so different if Morgana could have come here but, by the time her baby sister was born, the Great Purge was tearing through the kingdom. 

Vivienne had dedicated her first daughter to the service of the Triple Goddess, arranging for her to be smuggled out of Camelot in secret and telling her husband that their child had died so he would not try to take her back. Morgause had hoped that she would send Morgana too but her mother refused to allow her second daughter to be taken from her. One of the priestesses suggested that her mother might be concerned for the safety of the baby, with people of magic hunted, and that she might worry that her husband would grow suspicious if he was told of the death of his second daughter. On one of her mother’s rare visits to the Isle, she promised that she would be able to keep Morgana safe, no matter who tried to hurt her, but instead of being promised her sister’s company, she was firmly told that Morgana’s place was not among the priestesses.

At the time, she could not understand why her mother would hesitate to send Morgana to the Isle of the Blessed. Magic was in their blood and it was dangerous to leave her untrained. 

Within five years of the death of Queen Ygraine, the Isle of the Blessed was abandoned, with the High Priestesses deciding that, if their knowledge of the Old Religion was to survive, they must go their separate ways in the hope that some would escape the Purge. By the time Gorlois died, the Isle of the Blessed had fallen to Camelot’s attacks and the handful of survivors lived in hiding, in a ruined castle, sharing their knowledge of magic and the Old Religion in the hope that, one day, they would once more be able to recruit apprentices and pass on their knowledge.

Morgause wanted to take her sister away before Uther could lay claim to her but Cataruna, the most senior of the High Priestesses, gently explained that it was impossible; the life they led was no life for a young child and it was certain that, if Morgana disappeared before Uther could bring her to Camelot as his ward, he would search for her and they would risk exposure. She badly wanted to argue with her, to point out that their numbers had fallen so drastically that they needed to train new girls if their ways were not to die out but she knew that it would be fruitless. She was still a very junior member of the community and had no hope of swaying Cataruna, once her mind was made up. As much as she hated it, she had to bear the idea of her sister growing up in Uther’s care, and she prayed to the Goddess that he would not infect her with his hatred of magic.

Had her sister grown up under her guidance rather than in Camelot’s royal court, she would not have shrank from playing her part in ensuring Uther’s downfall, would not have derailed her plan just as it was about to succeed… but had she succeeded in killing Uther, Arthur would have become King, and nobody would ever have known that Morgana was the true heir to the throne.

The hand of Destiny had surely guided Morgana’s actions.

As a child, she wondered why her mother would not send Morgana to the Isle of the Blessed and resented her for depriving her of her sister but now she knew why Vivienne kept Morgana with her. Her mother had dedicated one daughter to serve the Triple Goddess as a priestess but her other daughter had another role to play in ensuring the survival of the Old Religion. She was faintly sickened to think of her mother bedding Uther Pendragon but she also admired her for the great sacrifice she was willing to make to protect those with magic by ensuring that Camelot would one day have a Queen who would turn her back on her father’s ways and restore the Old Religion.

She would have given almost anything to be able to witness this moment in person but she would be recognised instantly if she entered Camelot as herself and she wasn’t confident in her ability to maintain an ageing spell as long as she would need to if she was to attend the ceremony. It was a pity, as she would have loved to have the opportunity to be there to watch Uther forced to recognise his daughter’s claim to the throne, knowing that he could not cheat her of her rights for the sake of Ygraine’s son, however much he might want to, and that all the years he spent teaching Arthur to rule Camelot as he would have it ruled were for nothing.

Instead, she used a crystal to scry for her sister and through it she could watch her investiture as Crown Princess of Camelot.

Morgana had their mother’s changeable green eyes, lily fair skin and fine features but her dark hair must have been a legacy from Uther and his kin, as Morgause had inherited Vivienne’s fair hair. She wore a deep red velvet gown trimmed with gold embroidery and as she pledged her allegiance to Camelot, Uther crowned her with a gold circlet studded with rubies. 

She might be wearing the Pendragon colours but if Uther thought that Morgana would rule as he did, persecuting those with magic because he had sought its help in giving him a son by his barren wife and objected to the price he had to pay, he was mistaken.

Morgana would be the Queen their mother had planned for her to be from the moment she resolved to conceive Uther’s child.

She would restore the Old Religion to its proper place and, under her rule, those with magic would never again have to fear persecution at the hands of those ignorant, envious fools who deemed their power evil because it was one that they were incapable of understanding, let alone wielding.

Once she was Queen, she would right Uther’s wrongs and magic would flourish once more. 

Morgause would see to that.

She would allow nothing and nobody to stand between Morgana and her destiny.


	6. Chapter Six

It was a rare treat for Gwaine to find a man at the tavern who knew no better than to accept his challenge to a drinking match.

When he lived on the road, never spending more than a couple of days at a village before moving on to the next, it was relatively easy for him to find somebody willing to accept his wager. The bigger and ruddier they were, the more likely they were to be convinced that there was no way that they could be beaten by a smaller, wirier man and the prospect of having their drinks paid for was more than enough to tempt them to try their luck. He would never have dreamed of challenging a man who looked to be barely scraping by but he did not hesitate to challenge the more prosperous patrons of a tavern, looking to see which of them was the heaviest drinker, and always waiting until he had a few mugs of ale taken before he drunkenly proposed his wager. 

It rarely failed to make them more inclined to accept.

The rules were simple.

He and his opponent matched one another, drink for drink, until one of them could no longer walk in a straight line. The loser paid the tab for their competition.

He was not in Camelot a week before he was left with nobody willing to accept his challenge.

With hindsight, challenging and easily defeating three different men on three nights in succession had not been the best way to ensure a supply of willing challengers but, as he had not had the sense to let one of them beat him to make others more confident, there were never any takers.

For the most part, he contented himself with having a few drinks at the tavern with whichever of his friends was willing to accompany him. Percival could generally be relied upon to accept his invitation, if he was not on duty, as he seemed to have got the strange idea that Gwaine would get himself into trouble if he had nobody there to keep an eye on him. Elyan and Lancelot could also be prevailed upon to accept from time to time, and even a couple of the nobly born knights, initially aghast at the King’s decision to knight commoners, deigned to join the fun on one or two occasions. For some reason, Arthur frequently advocated that he should invite Merlin, once predicting that he must surely be able to drink him under the table and claiming that the tavern was his second home by now. Merlin himself always demurred, insisting that he had no liking for ale, wine or mead, much to Arthur’s amusement and derision.

On this afternoon, Gwaine found himself missing his old sports and, as he was not scheduled to be on duty that night or the next morning, he had his horse saddled and rode out of the citadel and lower town, to a village outside the Forest of Essetir. The tavern there was smaller than any in the lower town but the village was prosperous enough, and a dozen men crowded the small tavern.

The tavern’s patrons regarded him warily at first, not entirely comfortable with the idea of having a Knight of Camelot in their midst. He should probably have changed into his old clothes, the better to fit in but, even in the short time since his knighting, he had come to take great pride in the uniform he wore, and all it represented, something he could never have anticipated a few months ago, and wearing it had become second nature to him.

As a boy, he hated the nobility and everything about them and that hatred endured to manhood.

When his father died, his grandparents refused to recognise the marriage they had never approved of, or the son and daughter born of that union, preferring to ignore the existence of their grandchildren rather than admit that their son had loved a commoner so much that he was determined to marry her, rather than taking her as a mistress and abandoning her and any children she bore him once he tired of her and found a nice noblewoman to marry. King Urien would not have dreamed of offending one of Rheged’s noble houses by recognising a marriage contracted without the permission of the head of that house, preferring to agree that no such marriage had taken place and that, as there was no widow, there was nobody with the right to claim the pension due to the wife of a knight who lost his life in the service of the King of Rheged.

When he was first banished from Camelot, Merlin had urged him to speak up about his noble heritage, suggesting that King Uther would grant him a pardon and allow him to stay if he knew that he was a noble. He declined, telling Merlin that he could never work for a man like Uther but the truth was that he knew that, even if he came clean about his heritage, Uther would not accept his word at face value, not when he had no papers or seal to prove his claim to be of noble blood. He was certain to make enquiries into his claim and, when he did, his grandparents would deny his existence, as they had after his father died.

He refused to give them the satisfaction of taking anything else from him.

He only wished that he could let them know that the grandson they rejected was now a Knight of Camelot, a position he had earned rather than being handed it because of his noble blood. Their blood.

He spent some time scanning his fellow patrons, hoping to find somebody for whom the prospect of being able to brag that he had the stomach and fortitude to drink a Knight of Camelot under the table would be sufficient inducement to get them to accept his challenge, once it was issued. Sadly, neither of the two men he challenged was willing to accept. He wished that Percival was not on duty tonight. His friend might not be much of a drinker but his size would have made Gwaine look smaller next to him, and therefore less of a threat, which could have let him lull other men into a false sense of security, enough to ensure that they would take their chances in a drinking contest.

He had all but abandoned hope of finding somebody to accept his challenge and was ready to give up on the idea and settle down for a few drinks before returning to Camelot when the tavern’s heavy oak door opened to admit a man who might as well have been marked with a bull’s-eye.

He was young, perhaps not even of age yet, with curling golden hair and a cherubic face that made him look even younger than his years, but that was not all that drew Gwaine’s attention to him. Although he was simply dressed in a shirt, breeches and cloak, Gwaine had seen enough of the nobility to recognise that, while the young man’s clothes might be simple, they were of the finest quality; the shirt of finely woven, snow white linen, soft leather breeches and boots, and a moss green woollen cloak with a hood lined with fur, fastened with a silver brooch.

Gwaine knew a nobleman when he saw one.

They were his favourite people to trounce in a drinking contest.

He quickly rose to his feet, tapping the young man on the shoulder and watching his blue eyes widen slightly when he saw the tunic, chain mail and distinctive red cloak that marked him as a Knight of Camelot. “I’m Gwaine,” he introduced himself, giving him a friendly smile.

“Don’t you mean _Sir_ Gwaine?” The young man asked, indicating the embroidered gold dragon on his shoulder and glancing down at the sheathed sword on his hip. The work of the royal armoury of Camelot was famed throughout Albion, and the weapons made for the use of the knights were the finest produced, aside from those reserved for the men of the royal family. “I’m Balin.”

“Don’t you mean _Lord_ Balin?” Gwaine figured that turnabout was fair play. 

The young man… Balin paused for a moment before nodding. “I suppose so.”

“It’s not often we get a nobleman in these parts,” Gwaine said, losing no time in steering Balin towards a table in a quiet corner of the tavern, pushing him into the larger, slightly more comfortable chair set against the wall and taking the stool for himself. He turned in his seat, signalling for the tavern keeper to bring them two mugs of ale. Balin took a fat pouch out of his pocket, coins clinking, but Gwaine motioned for him to put it away. “This round is on me,” he said genially, lifting his flagon in toast.

Balin was evidently a chatty one. He thanked Gwaine for the drink and spent the next several minutes telling him about himself, pausing only when his throat grew dry and he had to take a drink. He was travelling with a party of others but had ridden on ahead and, seeing the tavern, decided that it was as good a place as any to stop for a rest while he waited for the rest of his party to catch up with him. When he was finished his retelling, he took a large gulp of ale and spluttered, gasping for air after he swallowed it. He pounded on his chest with his fist, coughing, much to the amusement of the other patrons of the tavern.

“Careful there,” Gwaine said, his tone carefully calculated to provoke Balin just enough to get him right where he wanted him. “It’s strong stuff for those who can’t hold their drink.”

As expected, Balin bristled at this. “The men in my family can hold their ale better than you can!”

From there, it was a simple matter to get him to agree to Gwaine’s challenge. His pride was on the line and Gwaine was certain that he would have agreed to any terms in order to defend his honour. He had half expected that, within no more than two or three drinks, Balin would be incapable of sitting in his chair without ending up face down on the table, let alone walking in a straight line, as the terms of their contest required if he was not to forfeit, but the young nobleman surprised him. His indignation seemed to have fortified them and he was as quick to accept his fourth tankard from the tavern keeper as Gwaine was. After downing the fourth tankard, however, he was squirming rather uncomfortably in his seat and asked Gwaine a question in hushed tones.

“There’s an outhouse in the back,” Gwaine told him, watching Balin hurry outside. He noted with a mixture of disappointment and admiration that Balin was steady on his feet but the night was still young. He had plenty of time and could take many more drinks before suffering for it.

When Balin returned, he was eager to take a fifth tankard, downing it more enthusiastically than he had either of the others. He was ready for his sixth before Gwaine was halfway done with his fifth, and showed no sign of slackening his pace. To his dismay and embarrassment, Gwaine found himself lagging behind as Balin downed his seventh tankard while he struggled with his sixth. By now, they had an audience of three or four of the other men, who watched the proceedings eagerly, counting the number of drinks each had taken, to ensure that neither could pretend to have drunk more than he had.

Gwaine excused himself for a trip to the outhouse, walking slowly and carefully so as not to stumble and cost himself the contest. Even if Balin didn’t take another drop, he would have to drink a seventh for a tie and an eighth for victory. Unfortunately, the opportunity to relieve himself and a few moments in the fresh air didn’t revive him as effectively as they had Balin.

When he returned, a tankard and a cup were waiting on the table for him but, the former containing ale, while the latter contained mead.

“I thought that we could try something stronger next, once you’ve finished your seventh ale,” Balin said innocently. He held his own cup of mead and raised it in a toast. “My party will soon catch up with me, and I’d hate to leave before we were finished.”

Gwaine sat down gingerly, feeling as though the stool was shifting beneath him. The number of tankards on the table seemed to multiply before his eyes and, when he reached out to take one of them, his fingers closed around nothing but air, much to Balin’s amusement, and that of the men watching their contest.

Had he been facing a prosperous farmer or merchant, he might have forfeited but he had no intention of allowing himself to be beaten by a nobleman.

With great effort, he downed the last of his ale before turning his attention to the mead.

Did every tavern serve it in such large cups or was this tavern keeper especially generous in his servings?

Did it always smell so sweet and so spicy as to make his stomach churn?

Balin didn’t seem to be in any way repulsed by the mead, if the eagerness with which he was drinking it was any indication, but what did he know about good drinks?

Gwaine took a small, slow sip of his mead, knowing that he would need to take it slowly if he was not to disgrace himself by bringing it back up. He did his best to sit still in his chair and to keep a steady grip of his cup, to give himself a chance to get his bearings before Balin took it into his head to challenge him to get up and walk in a straight line from one end of the tavern to the next. 

His eyes began to feel dry, probably in response to the smoky atmosphere of the tavern. He just needed to close his eyes for a moment to rest them, and then he would be fine.

The wooden table top, worn smooth and even shiny in parts by long years of use, looked strangely comfortable, so much so that he felt that he had to lay his cheek on it, just for a moment, to see if really was as comfortable as it looked.

A large, work-roughened hand on his shoulder jolted him awake.

“You lost, milord,” the tavern keeper said without preamble. “Your friend left near an hour ago, said that I should let you sleep it off but it’s near to closing time, and there’s the matter of the bill to be settled before you leave.”

For a moment, Gwaine struggled to think which of his friends would have left him snoring in the tavern while they returned to Camelot and, worse still, left him stuck with the bill.

Realisation sobered him more quickly and more effectively than a bucket of icy water could have.

“I lost a drinking contest.”

“You did,” the tavern keeper confirmed. “I understand that it was to be ‘Loser Pays’.”

Gwaine couldn’t help but flinch at the total the tavern keeper named. Until very recently, it would have been rare for him to have enough coins in his pocket to be able to settle a bill of that size but as a Knight of Camelot, he was paid a generous stipend for his service, with board and lodgings included. Because of that resource, he had more than enough money on hand to pay his way.

The sun was beginning to set as he left the tavern, mounting his horse to ride back to the citadel.

Any hope he had that he would be able to slip back to his quarters and sleep off the headache that was rapidly coming on were dashed when Percival intercepted him at the stables. He didn’t ask where Gwaine had been, as he could guess the answer without asking the question.

“We’re needed in the throne room. King Olaf’s party has been sighted approaching by the main road,” he said, without preamble, reaching out to brush the dust from Gwaine’s cloak. “The King wants a party of knights there when he and Princess Morgana greet them.”

It was the last thing Gwaine felt like doing but he was not about to shirk his duties. If he was fortunate, he could find a place at the back and the reception would be a short one, after which he could return to his quarters for a good night’s sleep, which would have him feeling human by morning. Until then, he would have to endure it.

The King and Princess Morgana were already waiting in the throne room, standing side by side at the front of the company, with nine knights behind them, including Arthur, Lancelot, Elyan and Leon. A quick look at the knights present confirmed that all of them were friends of Arthur’s, allowing Gwaine to conclude that it was left to him to decide who was to be present. He supposed that it was considered an honour to be included but, given how his head felt, it was an honour that he would just as soon foregone in favour of another knight, while he slept. Aside from the King, Princess and knights, the only others present were Merlin and Guinevere, both of whom were standing well back, almost hidden in the shadows, as was deemed fitting for servants.

The King frowned when Gwaine and Percival entered and took their places in the line of knights behind him but he didn’t remark on their lateness.

“How many sons does this King Olaf have?” Gwaine asked in a low voice, curious to learn how many princes they would be expected to entertain.

“Six, but I don’t know how if all of them are to accompany him,” Leon answered, his voice barely above a whisper. “I imagine that at least four or five of them will come.”

“So the Princess can take her pick of the bunch?”

Princess Morgana turned to meet his gaze. Gwaine never imagined that a beautiful woman could look so frightening but her scowl was nothing next to the black look the King gave him.

Sadly, neither saw fit to order him to leave the room.

“Arthur, come here and stand by me,” the King ordered, motioning to the spot to his immediate left. His tone left no room for argument so Arthur stepped forward to stand in the appointed place.

At the sound of approaching footsteps in the corridor, Gwaine and his fellow knights stood tall and straight, their eyes fixed directly ahead. 

The heavy double doors were opened by a pair of sentries, and their guests descended on them. 

King Olaf led the way, his brushed robes and crown indicating that he had taken the time to tidy himself a little after his journey before presenting himself to his fellow monarch. The broad smile on his face as he approached Uther came as a surprise to those who were present for his last visit, when his determination to safeguard his kingdom’s position in the negotiations was outdone only by his determination to guard his daughter from any man who might dare to glance in her direction. He was ready to kill Arthur after catching the two of them together. 

Five men tall, richly dressed men filed into the room after him.

Gwaine’s astonishment at seeing that the fourth man was Balin was exceeded only by his astonishment at seeing that the fifth man was _also_ Balin.

He could not rub his eyes but he blinked them furiously to clear his vision. For a few moments, he wondered if he might be going mad before realisation dawned.

The two Kings greeted one another warmly, clasping hands, before getting down to the business of introductions.

“Allow me to present my daughter, Princess Morgana,” Uther said formally, waiting until she curtsied to King Olaf and he kissed her hand in greeting before gesturing for Arthur to step forward. “And my stepson, Sir Arthur de Bois, commander of Camelot’s military.”

King Olaf did an admirable job of concealing his surprise that Arthur should be formally presented to him, as a member of the royal family rather than as an ordinary courtier, but his widening eyes betrayed him. He did not remark on it, though, choosing instead to begin his own introductions. “My sons, the princes of Gwynedd; Caradoc, Guy, Gaheris, Balin and Balan.”

Each bowed in turn as his name was spoken. The five princes were remarkably alike, with the same tall build, golden hair and blue eyes, and strikingly similar features.

Balin and Balan were identical, down to the way their hair curled on their foreheads. Even if he was sober, Gwaine doubted that he would have been able to tell which was which. What astonished him most, however, was that they seemed several years older than they had when he met Balin — or had it been Balan? — at the tavern, now that they were not affecting an appearance of naiveté.

“And your eldest, Olin? I trust that he is well?” Uther enquired politely. “And the Lady Vivian?”

“Well enough,” Olaf replied. “Olin rules Gwynedd in my absence.” He did not need to explain the reason for Vivian’s absence; not only was this visit intended to secure a marriage for one of her brothers, with no need for her to be present, it surprised nobody that he preferred not to bring her back to Camelot, considering the trouble she found herself in last time. It was far better that she should remain in Gwynedd, under her brother’s eagle eye, than that she should be placed in the path of temptation once more. “I know that it will grieve him that he is not to have a chance to make Princess Morgana’s acquaintance but he could not be spared to join us on this visit. You will have to make do with his brothers, Your Highness.”

Morgana nodded, managing to give him a small smile. 

King Olaf’s meaning could not be plainer; Prince Olin was not on offer, as his future as King of Gwynedd was set and as his father had no wish to see the kingdoms united, not when Camelot was so much stronger that it would absorb Gwynedd. It was the younger sons who needed to find wives and it was from their number that he wanted her to choose a husband.

“I hope that you and your sons will enjoy your visit,” Uther cut in, to spare Morgana the need to answer King Olaf. “Dinner will be served in an hour. In the meantime, you will be shown to your quarters, to refresh yourselves after your long journey.”

“We are most grateful for your hospitality, Uther,” Olaf said pleasantly, nodding to Leon, who stepped forward with an offer to show him to his quarters.

Gwaine would have dearly loved to be the one charged with escorting Balin or Balan to their chambers, as it would have given him an opportunity to take them to task for tricking him. However, for the sake of diplomacy, it was perhaps for the best that Lancelot and Sir Lucan were the ones to escort them, while he was left to show Caradoc to the guest chamber assigned to him.

The second eldest Prince of Gwynedd regarded him curiously for a moment, following his gaze and noting his black scowl as he watched the twins leave the room with their escort before following them out of the room. After a moment, he chuckled aloud.

“You met my dear brothers this afternoon, didn’t you?” Caradoc said, with a mixture of amusement and sympathy. He sniffed the air. “Ale and mead, and quite a lot of it. A drinking contest, if I’m not mistaken. I wondered why they looked so pleased with themselves when they rejoined our party. I might have known! Don’t feel badly about it, you’re not the first to be taken in by them. They can look like the most innocent and harmless of lads when it serves their purpose, when they’re anything but. They can’t get away with it at home anymore, everybody’s wise to their tricks by now and Olin would never let them hear the end of it but once they get a chance to travel…”

“But I was the one to challenge him… _them_!” Gwaine protested.

“And I bet they weren’t the first you challenged. Somebody else turned you down right before one of them walked into the tavern, am I right? Caradoc shook his head, as though his youngest brothers’ antics could still leave him incredulous. “They must have overheard you as they approached the tavern door and as soon as they did, they marked you. How much was the wager? I’ll get it back from them for you.”

“No need,” Gwaine said hastily, not wanting to have another man fight his battles for him, or to be seen to make a fuss over a wager he lost, even if he was cheated. King Olaf was known to be easily offended and Uther would not thank him if he did anything to mar the visit.

As indignant as he was when he first realised the trick that was played on him, he could now see the funny side to the fact that he, who had thought that he was manipulating a young nobleman into taking his challenge, was the one who was fooled. If he was honest with himself, he would probably try the same trick if he had a twin brother rather than a sister who was an evil old toad.

“If you’re sure…”

“I am. It was a good trick but they won’t catch me out a second time.”

And if nothing else, while he might have been duped by a pair of princes, he could at least have the satisfaction of knowing that it took two of them to beat him.

He could return to the tavern with his head held high.

* * *

As King Olaf and his party had arrived sooner than they were expected, the palace cooks had had to work in haste to have a suitable feast laid out for supper but they had excelled themselves, ensuring that the tables were laden with savoury dishes.

After a long journey, King Olaf was hungry and ate a hearty meal, enjoying all that was set before him. There was to be dancing after the meal but, while his sons were full of energy, despite their time in the saddle, all of them eager for the opportunity to partner Princess Morgana in a dance, he was ready to retire to his chambers. Before he left, however, there was a matter he wished to address with his fellow monarch. It could have waited until the next morning but he was eager to address the issue and get it over with. Fortunately, he and Uther were seated side by side for the meal, so it was a simple matter for him to lean closer to the other man and speak in a low voice, so that not even the servants who stood waiting to attend them could hear his words.

Uther listened to his request that they might speak privately before nodding. “Of course, my friend, we will leave the young people to their dancing and go to my study, if you are agreeable.”

“Thank you,” Olaf rose from the table when Uther did, waiting for the other man to wave his hand to the minstrels and dancing couples, to indicate that there was no need for them to stop on his account, before following him out of the Great Hall and through the corridors to his study.

The chamber was a large, high-ceilinged one that still managed to seem cosy, despite its size and grey stone walls, thanks to the fire roaring at the heart of a great, carved fireplace, its light bathing the room and the polished furniture in a soft, warm glow, and the tapestries hanging from the wall, concealing the stone and brightening the room. Lit candles were set along the table.

“Please have a seat,” Uther invited, indicating one of two large, comfortable chairs set in front of the fire. “Would you like me to send for refreshments?”

“No, thank you. I know it’s late so I won’t delay you,” Olaf said briskly, wanting to get this over with as soon as possible rather than passing any more time on pleasantries. “When she found out that I was planning to visit Camelot with her brothers, my daughter pleaded with me to bring her too. When I refused, she sobbed and begged and screamed and turned her chambers upside down. Had I not seen to it that her maid remained with her and that the door to her chambers was guarded, I fear that she would have tried to follow us! I had hoped that, once I took her away from temptation, she would forget about Arthur and see that it was nothing more than a passing fancy but she just got worse. There were times when I came very close to contacting you about the possibility of them marrying, if only so that I did not have to fear what she would do if I continued to deny her. Vivian has tried to run away to return to Camelot more than once. Thankfully, she knows so little of my kingdom outside the palace that she never got far.”

Uther listened in silence, feeling rather awkward to hear the usually proud Olaf share his distress over his daughter’s state.

He was no happier to find his son in bed with Lady Vivian, not only because he knew that Olaf would take offence but because he couldn’t imagine that the spoiled young woman had it in her to be the kind of wife Arthur would need. It was true that she was of royal blood, and that she was lovely to look at, but as far as he could see, she cared for nothing and no one but herself and what she wanted. He would have preferred to see Arthur married to a princess who had it in her to become a Queen who would help him rule one day. He was thankful when Arthur showed no sign of pining after Vivian once Olaf brought her back to Gwynedd - to the best of his knowledge, Arthur never mentioned her name and had never expressed any regrets over the end of their love affair - but he couldn’t imagine that Olaf would be pleased to learn that the man his daughter was still pining over had forgotten her as soon as she walked out of his life.

“I know that this visit is about my boys, and which of them will suit Princess Morgana,” Olaf continued, choosing not to allude to the fact that Morgana’s choice would not be limited to his sons. “But I cannot ignore my daughter’s unhappiness. When word reached us about Sir Arthur, I told Vivian because I hoped that it would bring her to her senses but it didn’t. She insists that she is still in love with Arthur and that all she wants is to be with him, even if he is no longer a Prince. I knew then that there could be no reasoning with her, not if she was willing to throw herself away on a knight.” He paused, drawing in a deep breath before continuing. “Under ordinary circumstances, I would never consider allowing any daughter of mine to marry a man who was so far beneath her but Vivian is my youngest, and my only girl. I want to see her happy.”

“I share your feelings,” Uther said, hoping that the other man would take his gentle hint that he cared as much for Morgana’s happiness as Olaf did for Vivian’s, and that he intended to see to it that his daughter would have some say about who her future husband was to be. If she took a liking to one of Olaf’s sons, he would be pleased to see her marry him but if she disliked them, there were other princes in Albion who would vie for her hand. He did his best not to allow Olaf to see how offended he was by the suggestion that Arthur was beneath his spoiled daughter, knowing it was to be expected that he would see it that way, given the circumstances of Arthur’s birth.

“So you will speak to Sir Arthur?” Olaf asked hopefully. He couldn’t bear the idea of being the one to approach Arthur.

He had taken umbrage at the idea of his involvement with Vivian before, when he was still the Prince of Camelot, heir to perhaps the most powerful and most prosperous kingdom in Albion, and a sought-after royal bridegroom. When he found them together, he challenged Arthur to a fight to the death rather than demanding that he make amends for dishonouring his daughter by marrying her, as another father in his position would have. After what had happened, he could not go to him now to offer his only daughter to a bastard whose future prospects depended entirely on the good will of the husband his mother had wronged. In the past, he told himself that he would only part with Vivian if she was offered a splendid match, one worthy of her but her behaviour over the past few months had made it painfully clear to him that she would only accept Arthur.

He was certain that even if he arranged a match for her with a King, she would scorn the opportunity to become a Queen, insisting that Arthur was the only man she wanted.

If Uther was willing to speak for him, he would not have to be the one to look Arthur in the eye as he offered him his daughter’s hand in marriage, and would not have to see any satisfaction the boy must surely feel at knowing that he had enslaved the heart of a King’s daughter so effectively that she would be willing to marry him, despite his loss of status.

“I’ll speak to Arthur,” Uther promised, easily able to guess what Olaf must be feeling but not relishing the task ahead of him.

He and Arthur had barely spoken since he told him the truth about his birth, save for a brief conversation following Jasper’s attempt to oust Arthur from his position as military leader. He was willing to give his son his space but he could not refuse to pass on Olaf’s message, even if he was certain that Arthur would not welcome an attempt on his part to involve himself in his life.

“Thank you, my friend,” Olaf said gratefully, a relieved smile on his face.

Uther did his best to return the smile, despite the apprehension he felt.

If Arthur refused Olaf’s offer of Vivian’s hand, Olaf was certain to take offence. 

It would be bad enough if he offered his adored only daughter to a prince and she was rejected but much worse if, after beggaring his pride and proposing a match between her and a young man who, in the eyes of the world, was a bastard who was fortunate to be allowed to retain his position as a knight, and who could never presume to seek the hand of a King’s daughter, he saw her rejected, he would be furious and insulted. It might pacify him if Morgana chose one of his sons as her future consort but Uther had promised her that she would have some say about who she was to marry, and did not want to go back on his word by telling her that she had to choose one of the princes of Gwynedd, in order to soothe Olaf’s indignation over his daughter being rejected.

On the other hand, if it turned out that Uther was wrong about Arthur losing interest in Vivian, if he was willing to accept Olaf’s offer, he would have to leave Camelot. There was no way that Olaf would consent to his daughter coming to live in Camelot as the wife of a knight rather than Arthur coming to Gwynedd as husband to its princess. Despite what he said to Jasper, Uther was certain that somebody could be found to take over Arthur’s duties as Camelot’s military leader, even if the knight chosen could never hope to be as effective a commander. He did not want Arthur to leave Camelot. This was his son’s home and the last thing he wanted was for him to feel as though he was expected to leave, or that he should leave because there was no place for him.

He would convey Olaf’s offer to Arthur but it would be up to his son whether or not to accept, whether to stay in Camelot or travel to Gwynedd and make a new life there.

He would put no pressure on him, one way or the other.

This was Arthur’s choice to make.

* * *

“No.”

Arthur did not hesitate even a moment before responding and Uther was doubly thankful that Olaf had asked him to be the one to broach the question of marriage with the Lady Vivian, as he would have been mortally offended to hear his daughter flatly rejected, especially when he was already beggaring his pride by offering her to a man who could no longer claim royal status. At least this way, he could make up some excuse about Arthur deeming himself unworthy of a king’s daughter, or being determined to stay in Camelot and do his duty as a knight.

Arthur’s posture was tense, even hostile, as though he expected to be commanded to accept Lady Vivian and was ready to fight Uther every step of the way. 

“I am no longer the Prince of Camelot, _Your Majesty_ ,” he said, stressing the honourific. “You have no right to try to push me off on Lady Vivian, or any other princess. If you want me to leave Camelot, all you have to do is say the word,” he added, more to hurt Uther than out of a belief that this was a ploy intended to get him safely out of the kingdom and into the charge of a reliable ally, so he would not be around to tread on the toes of whichever prince Morgana might marry.

“You know very well that I don’t want you to leave, Arthur,” Uther told him, unable to keep a note of sharpness from his voice. He felt guilty over the way Arthur had lost out on what was once his birth right because of a choice he had made but he was trying his best to do right by his son and was irritated by his attitude. He must know that Uther was no happier than he was about the way things had turned out but, as there could be no changing the past, all they could do was try to make the best of the cards that were dealt to them. “And it is entirely up to you whether or not you wish to marry the Lady Vivian. King Olaf made the offer and I conveyed it to you for your response. I was not going to make the decision on your behalf. You were very taken with the Lady Vivian a few months ago and, if you wished to marry her, I would not have stood in your way, no matter how much I would prefer for you to remain in Camelot. As you do not, we will say no more about it. I will give King Olaf your answer.” _Or at least a diplomatic version of it_ , he thought.

Arthur’s eyes widened a fraction at his response and some of the tension left his posture, betraying his surprise that he was not to have a fight on his hands. He recovered quickly.

“Good. You have your daughter to marry off, Sire… if you can convince Morgana to let you play matchmaker for her.”

Arthur would have liked to be there when Uther told Morgana that Olaf was dragging five of his sons to Camelot, with the intention of parading them as potential candidates for her hand. 

When they were children, Morgana’s governess scoffed at her claim that she would never marry, predicting that she would change her mind once she was older and come to want a husband and children, as all women did. Arthur could remember the woman casting a knowing glance in his direction as she said this, and he shuddered inwardly at the memory, wondering how Uther could bear to hear people speculate about the possibility of marriage between the Prince and the King’s ward when, to the best of his knowledge, they were brother and sister. What if they had fallen in love and had wanted to marry? They should have been told who Morgana’s true father was a long time ago.

As Morgana neared marriageable age, he had had more than a few knights who were attracted to her, presumably because they didn’t know her well enough to realise the merry dance she would lead any man who was foolish enough to fall in love with her. He couldn’t remember her taking an interest in any of them, beyond a mild flirtation that always died a speedy death as soon as the knight in question indicated that he was interested in anything more.

True to her childhood resolve not to marry, Morgana never sought to attract a noble husband and, when offers were made for her hand, she could always coax the King into refusing.

Arthur doubted that she was happy to be told that her new title as Crown Princess came with a catch; that her marriage would be a matter of state, and an unmarried life no longer an option.

“Morgana and I have already discussed the matter. She understands that she needs to marry for the good of the kingdom, and that it is part of her duty as Crown Princess to produce an heir,” Uther told him. “She has agreed that she and I will choose a suitable prince for her to marry.”

Arthur wasn’t sure what he should say in response to this but, in the end, he didn’t need to say anything, as a servant chose that moment to knock on the door to let Uther know that a messenger had arrived for him. He excused himself, to allow Uther to hear the message in privacy. A few weeks ago, he was as likely to be asked to stay to hear the message as not, as it was necessary for him to keep himself informed about anything affecting the kingdom but it was no longer his place to stay. If there was anything in the message that might concern him, he would be expected to wait until Uther saw fit to reveal it to him.

Training for the knights was over for the day, after a morning spent with King Olaf’s sons joining in their exercises and sparring sessions, each of them eager to best his brothers and to uphold the honour of Gwynedd by trouncing the knights of Camelot, and time hung heavily on Arthur’s hands.

Usually, when he had no duties to attend to, he enjoyed archery and hunting and other such pastimes but he couldn’t summon any interest in them today, especially as he was certain that he would end up with at least a couple of the princes of Gwynedd seeking to join in his activity if they spotted him, and if they did, he would not be able to refuse their request. He was in no mood to entertain a royal guest, especially as he could no longer do so on an equal basis. He had no desire to spend the afternoon deferring to them as a knight to princes. He would never have admitted it under torture but there were times when Morgana’s company could be pleasant enough, when he had nothing better to do than visit her, but he didn’t want to see her today. 

It was unfair and irrational, he knew that, but there was a part of him that blamed her.

They both learned that the men they had called ‘Father’ had not actually fathered them but while that revelation had cost him his position as Prince and his chance to make Camelot a better place, the kind of kingdom he could be proud to rule, Morgana had gained his title and his inheritance. He was scorned as illegitimate but, even though she was the product of adultery, nobody dared to treat her as though this made her less worthy of respect; he was called ‘bastard’ to his face, while she was called ‘Princess’. His mother was a loving and faithful wife who was now regarded as an adulteress while no word of condemnation was spoken against Lady Vivienne, the true adulteress, as no courtier would be so foolish as to speak against the mother of Camelot’s future Queen.

Queen Morgana.

It sounded so wrong.

Since childhood, he was accustomed to hearing people speak of Queen Ygraine, and in recent months, he imagined what it would be like to present Queen Guinevere to his people.

He had not imagined Morgana as his Queen since they were much younger, and he heard rumours that his father intended that they would marry once Morgana was old enough. She was no longer the woman he imagined having as his Queen, and he never envisioned her being Queen alone.

She might be the only one of them with Pendragon blood in her veins but he was the one who was educated and trained to be King from his earliest years. He was the one who was forced to spend long hours studying the kingdom’s history, laws and customs, and to attend lengthy Council meetings by his father’s side, observing his work so he could see what would be expected of him. Morgana had shared his lessons when they were younger but out of choice, not duty. Had she wanted to give up her studies and amuse herself with music or needlework instead, she would have been allowed to have her way. Their tutor never scolded her half as harshly for not knowing the answers to his questions as he scolded Arthur when he found his work lacking. He was the one who was always expected to win every tournament in order to make his father and the people proud of their Prince; while Morgana could watch from the comfort and safety of the royal box, with nothing more demanded of her than that she should allow the winner to escort her to the feast afterwards. He was the one who had had to risk his life on a quest to the Perilous Lands in order to prove that he was worthy of being named Crown Prince, while the title was bestowed on Morgana without any such requirement. Nobody even _suggested_ that she embark on a quest of her own.

Had the Sword of King Bruta been left in the vaults of Camelot, he would be Crown Prince now.

It was not a thought he could give voice to, even to Merlin, who had been nothing but sympathetic and supportive since his aborted investiture.

He was not supposed to resent the fact that his lack of Pendragon blood was exposed and that he lost the throne to Morgana but he couldn’t keep himself from thinking about how things might be if his father had not thought it necessary to use the Sword of King Bruta as a prop for his investiture. 

Nobody would have imagined that he was not Uther’s son and the true heir and there would have been no question but that, one day, King Arthur would rule Camelot. He could have continued his father’s work while making the changes necessary to make his kingdom great. He could have ruled over a land where a skilled swordsman was not denied the opportunity to be a knight for no better reason than that he was the son of a commoner. He could have married Guinevere, refusing to let anybody tell him that she was not worthy, and Camelot would have had a wise, gentle and compassionate Queen who would win the love and respect of every one of their subjects.

A long dead King had stolen that future from him and placed the kingdom that was to have been his in Morgana’s hands instead.

He strode through the corridors, unsure where he was going or what he wanted to do. He could feel his brow furrowed in a scowl but that had the pleasant effect of ensuring that nobody tried to engage him in conversation, knowing that he would not welcome it if they did.

His scowl didn’t soften until he saw a very welcome figure approaching.

No matter how foul his mood might be, no matter what might be happening in his life, he couldn’t imagine ever being able to see Guinevere approach without smiling at the sight of her.

She was carrying a basket of clothes, bound for the laundry, but she was still poised as she dipped a curtsey at his approach, bowing her head respectfully.

“Sire,” she greeted him politely.

“You don’t need to call me that anymore.” 

If there was a silver lining to the dark cloud, this was it. 

As a rule, most of what came out of Merlin’s mouth was nonsense, so much so that a man would probably get stupider if he made the mistake of paying too much attention to what he had to say, but on occasion, he was exactly right. Arthur wasn’t entirely certain what had happened with Lady Vivian, or how Merlin had come up with the idea that only Guinevere’s kiss could bring him to his senses, but he knew that his manservant was right when he said that Guinevere was his true love. 

She was the only woman he could imagine being by his side and the only woman he wanted there.

Rank had divided them, as the weight of his father’s expectations and of centuries of law and custom prevented a prince from professing his love for a servant. Had his father known of his feelings, he would have dismissed Guinevere from royal service without a second thought, not caring how she was to make a living if she lost her job and only concerning himself with preventing the scandal that would surely be the result if the nobility learned that the heir to the throne wanted nothing more than to be able to make a commoner his Queen. Even Morgana would not have been able to persuade their father to reconsider. He might indulge her in other matters but he would never allow a servant girl to remain under his roof if he knew that his son loved her, and feared that this love would lead him to marry her. They rarely had a chance to see one another privately and while they were in public, they were constrained by the rigid formalities of the court.

Now, however, he was no longer a prince but an ordinary knight.

The gulf between their stations might not have vanished but it had certainly narrowed and Arthur couldn’t feel sorry that it had.

“Sir Arthur,” Guinevere corrected herself but the title was awkward on her tongue. 

“Let me help you with that,” Arthur offered impulsively, thinking that even the short walk to the laundry would be pleasant in Guinevere’s company. He reached out to take the basket from her but she took a step back, holding it out of his reach and shaking her head.

“There’s no need, my lord,” she said hastily. “It’s not heavy, and I don’t have far to go.”

“I insist,” Arthur said, taking the basket from her. If he encountered Morgana or any of the other ladies of the court shopping, it would be expected that he would offer to carry their purchases for them, no matter how heavy or light their load might be. Like all of the boys who trained with him to be knights, he was taught to treat all ladies courteously but he felt that chivalry should not extend only to noblewomen. Guinevere was no less worthy of his respect than any court lady - if anything, she was more worthy of it than most of the ladies of his acquaintance. He fell into step beside her, holding the basket in his uninjured hand and offering her his other arm.

Guinevere took it reluctantly. “Somebody might see us,” she warned him, brown eyes wide as she glanced around to see if anybody was watching them. Not only did they need to be on guard against nobles who might take offence at the sight of a servant behaving too familiarly towards a knight, one could never be certain if a fellow servant would carry tales in the hope of a reward. It was known that several of the lords and ladies of the court were prepared to pay their servants to keep them up to date with anything that might be happening in the castle.

“Let them. I’m not a prince anymore, they can’t complain about who I spend time with.”

“You’re a knight, and I’m just a servant.” 

It might be unpalatable but it was the truth. 

Arthur’s status might have lowered but he was still regarded as a member of the nobility, even as a member of the royal family and, as such, it would be considered unseemly for him to be seen to behave too familiarly with one of the palace servants.

Guinevere was used to observing the necessary formalities. 

She and Leon might have known one another since she was a small child but, when she came to serve as a kitchen maid in the castle, where he was training to be a knight, along with other boys of his age and station, she knew that she must show him every respect due to a young man of noble blood, despite the fact that they had played together as children and despite the fact that she knew that he would not take offence if she treated him as a friend, as she had before. 

In private, she and Morgana could chat as friends but when others were present, she knew that she needed to be careful to treat her mistress with all due deference, and to stay in the background unless she was spoken to. Now that Morgana was Crown Princess, it was doubly important for her maidservant to be a model of decorum, as all eyes would be upon them. Merlin’s casual attitude towards Arthur attracted some disapproval among nobles and even palace servants who believed that he took liberties and needed to be taught his place, and dismissed if he failed to learn it. Merlin never allowed it to trouble him but Guinevere could not ignore their disapproval.

Master Varric even made a point of summoning her to his office after Elyan’s knighting, to remind her that being the sister of a knight did not exempt her from adhering to the same protocols as the other servants in the royal household, even around her own brother. In public, her brother must be Sir Elyan to her, and treated with the same respect and deference that would be accorded to any knight. Master Varric meant no unkindness by it; his goal was to ensure that there could be no risk that she would make a mistake that would bring the wrath of a noble down on her head if they felt that she had neglected to accord them the degree of deference due to their rank. She could not resent the steward for dealing honestly with her, even if she didn’t like what he had to say.

It was unfair that people should be judged by their birth rather than their deeds but it was the way of things in Camelot. 

“I don’t care,” Arthur insisted stubbornly.

“The King will care.”

“The King no longer has any say in my life,” Arthur stated. “I may be his knight but I am not his son, not any more. I will make my own choices.” He paused, taking a deep breath before continuing, knowing that the subject was a delicate one. “It’s not unheard of for a knight to marry a woman who is not of noble birth,” he said quietly.

It was very rare, as virtually every noble family would disown a son, stripping him of his inheritance, if he spurned the noble ladies offered to him as a bride and insisted on marrying a commoner, a threat that inevitably cooled their ardour, but there had been times when a nobleman who had no family left to thwart him had fallen in love to a commoner woman and insisted on being true to his heart and marrying her. It was a scandal at first, of course, and other noble ladies refused to associate with a commoner woman, regardless of her title by marriage but in time, the scandal would always die down and the woman was grudgingly accepted, if not embraced.

Guinevere was stunned by his words.

They had touched on the subject of marriage before, very tentatively, but it had seemed to be such an impossible dream. It was not just frowned upon for a prince to marry a commoner, it was illegal. While Arthur might have been able to change the law once he became King, she was certain that Uther would not have allowed his son to remain unmarried for long. As much as it touched her heart to know that Arthur was willing to turn his back on the centuries of law and tradition that dictated that he should marry a lady of royal or noble birth, and as proud and pleased as she was that he was able to see the value of a person beyond her title, the idea that she might be Queen seemed like something that could only happen in a story… and even then, it was to be expected that the prince would discover that the woman with whom he fell in love was truly a princess in disguise rather than the commoner he had believed her to be.

There was now no possible hope that she could be Queen.

Arthur would never seek to challenge Morgana’s claim and, even if he was prepared to do so, she could never marry a man who usurped the throne from her dearest friend.

If all he said was true, it _was_ possible for her to become Arthur’s wife… but did she want to be?

She should be overjoyed to hear Arthur’s words, delighted to know that they might be married after all but she couldn’t suppress a feeling of apprehension.

Did she truly love Arthur, or had she been in love with the idea that he loved her so much that he was willing to brave disapproval by marrying her?

Did she truly want to be his wife or had she wanted to be his Queen?

Lancelot’s return to Camelot brought her old affection for him bubbling to the surface, although they had had little contact over the past weeks - if anything, Lancelot was keeping his distance. She loved him once and those feelings had not vanished.

Until she was certain of her feelings for both men, she had no business marrying Arthur.

She laid her hand on his, forestalling his next words. “Don’t ask me to marry you,” she said quietly. “Not now, not just because we can. I need time… we _both_ need time.” Arthur might think that he wanted to marry her now but perhaps he would feel differently later, and would want to marry a noble lady. She did not want them to marry in haste, only to regret their decision later. “We need to wait and to think about what it is that we really want. Later, if you’re sure, ask me then.”

Arthur looked as though he wanted to reply, to insist that his feelings for her would never change, no matter how long he thought them over, but she didn’t give him a chance to speak.

She tugged her basket firmly from his hands and, bobbing a curtsey, continued on to the laundry by herself, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

* * *

Tracking Alvarr down was relatively easy.

She had never met him but she knew him by reputation, as a sorcerer sworn to bring down Uther.

He and his band of followers kept to the forests for the most part but they still managed to cause their fair share of trouble, seizing every opportunity, however small, to deal a blow to the enemy.

They rescued captive magic users before they could be brought to Camelot to be executed, with most of those they rescued joining Alvarr’s band out of a combination of gratitude and a desire to do their part to end the reign of the tyrant who persecuted them.

Every sorcerer saved from the flames was their victory against Uther.

They also sought to intercept the tribute sent by the nobility for the maintenance of the army, taking what they needed and destroying anything they had no use for so that there would be nothing left for Uther to salvage. Every wagon they were able to intercept meant there was less food to fill the bellies of the soldiers who hunted them and less coin to pay them. It also meant that Uther was forced to choose between reducing the rations for his army and risking discontent in the ranks, demanding more of his nobles by way of tribute and risking their good will, or reducing the supplies available for the ordinary citizens of Camelot so that his army was well-fed, thereby courting their anger, perhaps even outright rebellion. Whatever Uther did to compensate for the loss of the supplies, it made him look weak when he was seen to be robbed, especially by magic users, and even more so when his efforts to capture Alvarr met with failure.

Alvarr was always at least one step ahead of him, appearing only to deal Uther a blow, after which he would disappear, as quickly and as silently as a ghost.

Uther might not be able to find Alvarr, despite dispatching patrols to hunt him down and offering a large reward for anybody with information that would lead to his capture, but Morgause’s magic gave her an advantage that Uther did not share.

She used her crystal to scry for his location and transported herself to him.

Once she told him about Morgana, he shared her willingness to see her on Uther’s throne and was more than ready to do his part to see to it that she became Queen sooner rather than later.

Tracking down the Druids was a little more difficult.

They were a secretive people, forced into hiding for so long that it was second nature to them. Even scrying could only give her their general location, as a starting point, leaving her to search the area in an effort to discover their exact whereabouts.

In the end, however, they were the ones to find her.

She maintained that she would have been capable of dealing with the serkets herself but one of the Druids, Aglain, somehow knew when they crossed paths with the creatures and came to their aid.

It was not how she would have wanted to present herself to the Druids but at least she would not have to spend hours, if not days, trying to find them.

The Druids might live in isolation but they followed the Old Religion and, as such, they respected a High Priestess of the Triple Goddess and made her welcome in their camp, agreeing to her request to speak to their elders at once and making no attempt to discover what her business with them was. They knew that she would not have come without cause.

Even before the Great Purge, the Druids led fairly simple lives but Morgause considered the conditions in which they now lived to be deplorable. The campsite was tidy and well-kept but very crowded, the clearing dotted with small, shabby-looking tents. They lived mostly on what they could forage from the forest, and on the rare occasions when one of them ventured into a town to purchase essential supplies, they were obliged to pay a hefty premium to buy the vendor's silence as well as his wares. Even then, they were betrayed as often as not.

As they followed Aglain through the camp, she could see that everybody was busy with some task or another, apart from the youngest of the children, who were playing under the supervision of one of the oldest women, who kept a watchful eye on her small charges as they romped.

It would have been a charming scene, if not for how quietly they played, keeping their voices low rather than shouting in excitement as other children their age would while at play. Young as they were, they knew all too well that, no matter how often they moved their camp, and no matter how careful they were to conceal themselves, Uther’s soldiers could find them and, when they did, their youth would not protect them from the slaughter. Most, if not all of the children had probably lost siblings or parents to Uther’s men. They knew better than to make too much noise, for fear that they would lead people to the camp, or drown out the sound of approaching soldiers.

They should not have to live like this!

Once Morgana was Queen, those with magic would be free to live their lives as they chose, instead of having to hide for fear of the ignorant and the mundane.

Those who supported Uther's persecution would be made to answer for their crimes.

The tent they were led to was the biggest in the camp, at the centre of the clearing. Aglain lifted the flap so they could enter, and motioned for them to be seated on one of the threadbare rugs, offering Morgause a cushion, in deference to either her sex or her status. There were two others waiting for them, and Aglain took his seat next to them, making the introductions.

The first of the elders, Iseldir, had passed from the middle years of his life to old age. He inclined his head respectfully when Aglain introduced him to Morgause, courteously telling her that it was an honour to have a High Priestess visit their camp but his blue eyes were wary as he studied her, and they narrowed in suspicion when Alvarr was introduced to him. He must have known the man by reputation, and clearly disapproved of all that Alvarr had done to protect and avenge their people. Morgause estimated that the second elder, Aoife, was Iseldir’s junior by about five years. Her hair was streaked with grey and wound around her head in a tightly braided coil. The robe she wore hung a little loosely around her frame, as though she had lost weight or the robe was passed down to her from a larger woman. Her sharp brown eyes missed nothing as she studied her visitors. Like Iseldir, she greeted her guests courteously but said little else, waiting for Morgause to be the one to break the silence and tell them why she had sought them out.

If she had hoped that they would share her joy in the prospect of Morgana’s ascension to the throne, she was disappointed. While it was true that a glimmer of a smile crossed Aglain’s face, Aoife looked grave and Iseldir’s dismay at her words was all too apparent.

“This cannot be!” he protested, before she had even completed her tale. “Arthur Pendragon is destined to be King!”

“There is no such person as Arthur _Pendragon_ ,” Morgause snapped at him, too angry over his reaction to control her temper in deference to the fact that, not only was she a guest in their camp, she had come to seek their help and was unlikely to persuade them if she antagonised them. “He was never Uther’s son, he was born of magic and he has no mortal father." Given the way Uther had persecuted her people over Ygraine's death, she could take a measure of satisfaction from the fact that, not only was the child he asked Nimueh to give life to not his son, the sole heir to his throne had magic. "Uther’s only child is his daughter, Princess Morgana… my half-sister.” She saw the three Druid elders exchange glances but she didn’t give them a chance to say anything before she ploughed on, determined to have her say. “She has magic, I could sense it in her when we met.” 

She was unsure whether or not Morgana knew of her magic. 

She might have been able to ask her, had her sister heeded the note she left and come to meet her in the forest, but Morgana never appeared. They met only briefly, when she came to Camelot to find out what kind of man Arthur was, but Morgause could sense the magic humming in her sister’s veins and knew that, though Morgana was untrained, she possessed considerable raw power. 

With training, she would be a great sorceress one day, and would have been a worthy High Priestess for the Triple Goddess, if her destiny did not lie in another direction.

As Queen, she would do great things but she would need help.

Morgause would do everything in her power to see to it that her sister became the Queen she was destined to be, would protect her from Uther, who was certain to be willing to destroy his own flesh and blood if he learned that she had magic - he would probably seize on the excuse to reinstate his beloved Ygraine’s bastard son as his heir, knowing that he had trained the boy to see the world around him through his narrowed gaze, murdering his own daughter rather than allowing her to set his kingdom to rights - but she knew that she would not be able to do it alone. She would lay down her life for Morgana, if it came to it, but there were limits to what she could do for her. She had the support of Alvarr, whose band of followers would fight any battle he asked them to, but the Druids could also play their part in ensuring their deliverance from Uther’s tyranny.

There was no larger group of magic users in Albion and, between them, they possessed considerable power, enough to do their share of damage. They were a peaceful people by nature but even they must see that the times in which they lived called for them to change their ways. If they didn't defend themselves from those who sought to destroy them, they would be wiped out, their magic and their knowledge forgotten once there was nobody left alive to carry it on.

“Are you certain that Princess Morgana has magic?” Aglain asked, troubled. 

The Druids did their best to locate children with magical potential at a young age, to take them as apprentices so that they might learn to harness the gifts that, if left untrained, might make them a danger to themselves and others, and that might lead to their being persecuted as sorcerers, if they were discovered. For far too many people, their fear of magic was a strong one and even a child might be condemned to death if they were seen to use magic by accident. The idea of a young woman, Uther’s own daughter, alone at the heart of Camelot, trying to cope with magic she never asked for and would have been taught to think of as a curse, was a troubling one. It would take a brave man to dare to approach Uther's daughter about the subject of magic, and too many of their kind lost their way when they were deprived of the support they needed.

“I am certain,” Morgause stated firmly, offended that he should doubt her word. She had been around magic since her birth and there was no way that she could have failed to sense Morgana’s, not when they shared a mother and a magical heritage. "She is untrained but powerful."

"It is the time of Emrys, and the Once and Future King," Iseldir insisted, his distress at Morgause's revelation palpable. "They are destined to restore magic to the land. He is the most powerful sorcerer who has ever lived. He is destined for greatness; he will one day unite the powers of the old world and the new, and bring the time the poets speak of, the time of Albion. It is Emrys' task to protect Prince Arthur until he is King, and to help him build Albion."

"The future is not set in stone, Iseldir," Aglain cut in firmly, before Morgause lost her temper and berated Iseldir for persisting in his belief that Arthur was destined to take Uther's throne ahead of her sister, despite being told that he had no claim to it by blood, and could only take it by depriving the true heir of her birth right. "It is a foolish man who spends his life dwelling on the idea of 'destiny'. What will be tomorrow will be shaped by the choices of men and women today. The prophecy you speak of was just one among many, and one that is not likely to be fulfilled, given the circumstances. Arthur will not be accepted as Uther's heir if he is not of his blood, you know that. He can never be King, not now. Magic can still be restored without him; if Princess Morgana is one of us, then she will not continue to uphold her father's laws once she is Queen. Our freedom and safety will be no less precious, regardless of who puts an end to the laws against magic."

"But Emrys..."

"Is a traitor to every one of us, if he protects Arthur," Alvarr interjected scornfully, wondering how Iseldir could have earned the position of elder when, as far as he could see, he was no better than a child clinging to a comforting legend about a great sorcerer who would save them all, rather than having the sense to see that, if they wanted to be free from persecution, it was up to them to fight for their freedom. "How many of our people are executed in Camelot? If this Emrys is there, and if he truly is as powerful as you think he is, he should be using his magic to save his people, not standing idly by while they are murdered, and he protects those who murder them."

"You don't understand," Iseldir said, dismayed to hear Emrys spoken of in such a way, and eager to defend him and the choices he made. "Emrys must have a good reason for the choices he has made..."

"What is there to understand? Either he's a coward who would rather keep himself safe than use his magic to protect his people, or he's a fool, clinging to the idea that Arthur will be a better King than Uther and protecting a man who would despise him if he knew of his magic - not that Arthur will be King at all, now," he added, smirking at the thought of Uther raising a boy to be the kind of ruler he wanted to be, little realising that he was lavishing all of his time and energy on magic's bastard, while his only child was a sorceress, who would set his rotten kingdom to rights as soon as she took her place on his throne. It was a pity that Uther could not live to see it. "Whatever Emrys might have hoped to achieve once Arthur was King, it is never going to happen."

Morgause nodded her agreement but maintained enough self-control to hold her tongue rather than giving voice to some of the thoughts racing through her mind. 

Given how fanatically Iseldir believed in Emrys, she knew that it would be counterproductive for her to threaten the man, if he existed and was not just a legend that Iseldir had convinced himself had come to life in an unusual powerful sorcerer who managed to dupe him into believing that he was Emrys. However, one thing she was certain of was that there was no way that she was going to allow Emrys, or anybody else, to try to put Arthur on the throne, no matter what fairy tales they told themselves about the kind of ruler he would be. She met Arthur and tested him, and she knew better than to think that there was anything special about him but that did not mean that there would not be fools who believed in the same legends as Iseldir and who were convinced that Arthur was destined for greatness. Morgana would take her rightful place on the throne of Camelot and anybody who tried to make Arthur King in her place would die.

No matter how powerful this Emrys was, she would kill him before he could harm a hair on her sister's head.

“This is not a subject we should be quarrelling over,” Aoife cut in, speaking for the first time since the introductions were made. She did not speak loudly but everybody fell silent once she spoke. “Prophecies are given to us so that we may be guided by them; we should neither ignore them nor blindly follow them. I too believe that Emrys walks among us but it is not for me to say what it is he will do, or what he and Arthur will accomplish.”

“Forget about Arthur,” Alvarr advised coldly, “he is nothing now. And forget about Emrys; if he is not going to do anything to help us, we will all be better off if he stays away and minds his own business. He can spend the rest of his life running around after Arthur if that’s what he wants, as long as he doesn’t interfere. If the High Priestess is right, Princess Morgana will put an end to the laws against magic once she is Queen. There’s no reason for us to wait any longer for that day. If we work together, we can bring an end to Uther’s reign and then work with his daughter to put things right. My people are ready to play their part. Who among you is no longer willing to live in hiding, hunted by Uther’s men? Who among you is ready to fight for freedom?”

Alvarr was a charismatic man, one who found it fairly easy to win others to his side. It was how he was able to bring together his group of sorcerers, and keep them working towards a single goal. In Uther, they had a common enemy and he was able to ensure that this remained their focus, not any petty rivalries or disputes among themselves, so they could work as an effective team. However, if he had hoped that the Druid elders would fall under his spell as easily as others did, he was doomed to disappointment. Even Aglain, who clearly did not share Iseldir’s blind faith in Emrys and who was the most optimistic of the three elders where Morgana was concerned, looked grave when the idea of fighting was broached.

“Fighting is not our way,” Aoife spoke for the three elders, her voice firm and resolute. “We are a peaceful people, and we will not allow ourselves to change that, no matter what others do. Uther is to be pitied for his blindness, as are those who follow him. We cannot and will not stoop to their level, no matter what they do to us. If we allow ourselves to lash out at those who seek to harm us, we are no better than they are. This age of darkness and persecution cannot last forever and, when it is over, I want us to be the same people we were before the Great Purge, not a people warped into something they are not. That will be our victory; that we remain true to who we are.”

“But we cannot afford to wait for Morgana to be Queen!” In her heart, Morgause was not truly surprised that the Druid elders were reluctant to help them; she had half-expected as much, knowing that their reluctance to fight was deeply engrained, but she had hoped that there might be one among them would be sympathetic to their cause, and who would bring others over to their way of thinking, enough to make a difference. Every magic user on their side would be to their advantage. “Every day that we wait is another day that we are hunted. And what if Uther learns that she has magic?” Morgana had nobody to teach her how to control her powers, and could easily have an accident with them, one that would expose her as a sorceress. “He will kill her!”

There was no doubt in her mind about this.

Uther would never be able to stomach the idea of leaving his throne to his daughter if he knew that she had magic and that, once she was Queen, she would put things right for her people. His hatred of magic was too strong for him to be willing to spare anybody who possessed it, even his only child. As well as that, she was certain that, for all his faults, Uther dearly loved Ygraine, so much so that he waged war on magic to avenge her death. Though he knew that Arthur was no son of his, it was very possible that he cherished Ygraine’s memory so much that the fact that Arthur was her son would be enough for him to be prepared to leave Camelot in his hands, once Morgana was out of their way. He could even care more for Ygraine’s brat than his own daughter, given that he had not even bothered to recognise Morgana as his child until she unwittingly forced his hand.

“Not his own daughter, surely,” Aglain said gently, though he didn’t sound very certain of that.

Aoife’s face took on a very grave expression at Morgause’s words but it was not enough to convince her to change her mind about her stance.

To Morgause’s fury and disgust, Iseldir’s expression was almost tranquil. She was certain that he was thinking that, if Uther discovered the truth about Morgana’s magic and murdered her for it, it would pave the way for Arthur to be reinstated as heir, and for his precious Emrys to do whatever it was that that Iseldir was convinced he was going to do. His faith in them was such that he would be prepared to accept the death of an innocent young woman, a magic user like himself, for the sake of a man who hunted them and the coward who used his great powers to protect the people who would see him dead, rather than those with whom he should share a common cause.

She levelled an accusing finger at the man’s nose. 

“If anything happens to my sister, I will personally see to it that Arthur dies,” she snarled. “I don’t care if he is responsible or not, and I don’t care if he has Emrys protecting him! I will see them both torn limb from limb and fed to serkets before I allow any harm to come to Morgana!” She rose to her feet with as much dignity as she could muster, stalking out the tent, with Alvarr close behind her. Behind her, she could hear Iseldir’s spluttered protests, and the murmurs of disapproval from Aoife and Aglain but she ignored them, marching away from the tent without a backwards glance. She did not allow her pace to slow until she was a couple of hundred yards away from the Druid camp, and was confident that she could not be seen by any of its inhabitants.

“We knew that it was a long shot,” Alvarr offered, his grim tone making it clear that he was no happier than she was about their wasted trip.

“What do you know of Emrys?” Morgause demanded, irritated that she had never heard of this man in whom Iseldir placed such faith. She never liked to be set at a disadvantage, when others knew more than she did but she knew that a great deal of the knowledge that the priestesses once possessed was lost when the Great Purge began and so many of them were killed. She had done her utmost to learn all she could, so that she would be able to pass on her knowledge to those who came after her, but she knew that her knowledge of the Old Religion could not compare to that of the High Priestesses who lived a hundred years ago.

Alvarr shrugged. “It’s just a legend. One or two of my people have spoken of it. He’s supposed to be the most powerful sorcerer who ever lived, who is going to set everything right in Albion. It’s nothing more than a fairy tale for those young or foolish enough to believe in such things.”

Morgause nodded comprehension. She supposed that it was inevitable that legends like that would crop up, given how the Great Purge had torn their lives apart but she would have had far more respect for people like Iseldir if they could see that they needed to fight their own battles, instead of sitting around waiting for somebody else to do it. Once Morgana was Queen, he would know how wrong he was to put his faith in a legend like Emrys rather than the flesh and blood people who were prepared to work to make a difference, winning freedom for themselves and others.

“So what now?” Alvarr asked. “Do we look elsewhere for allies, or stick with my…” he trailed off, raising a hand to signal that she should remain silent.

For a few moments, there was nothing, and then there was a sharp crack as a twig broke under a foot.

They were being followed!

Moving as stealthily as a ghost, Alvarr retraced their steps, alert for any sound that would betray the person following them. At the sound of a rustle in the bushes, he reached out to seize the person, only to be sent hurtling backwards by an invisible force as a scream all but deafened him. He sailed about a dozen yards through the air and landed heavily on the path.

Morgause made no move to help him, her interest focused entirely on the figure in front of them.

The boy was young, no more than ten or eleven years old, with an innocent expression in his wide blue eyes that made it difficult to believe that he possessed the power he had just demonstrated.

**_‘I don’t want to hurt you.’_ **

The child’s voice echoed in Morgause’s mind and, judging by the way Alvarr stiffened and his eyes widened in surprise, he too could hear the boy.

“Who are you?” Morgause asked gently, approaching him slowly, as she might have approached a wild animal. “Are you one of the Druids?” The boy’s cloak, worn and too long for him, looked like the kind of garments worn by the Druids, and she couldn’t imagine where he might have come from if he had not followed them from the camp, but she had never heard of the Druids having such a powerful child in their midst.

**_‘My name is Mordred. I want to help you.’_ **

The proposal would have been laughable coming from so young a child, if not for the display of power they had witnessed. 

“Why do you want to help us? Your elders don’t want the Druids to fight,” Morgause pointed out, curious about what would lead the boy away from his people to join in their fight.

“Does it matter?” Alvarr asked, too intrigued by Mordred’s power to be indignant over being knocked off his feet by a young boy. “If he’s the only Druid with the courage to fight, we shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”

 ** _‘I want to help Morgana.’_** Although they could both hear the boy’s thoughts, his attention was focused on Morgause. **_‘She saved my life when the King wanted to execute me.’_**

“She did?” Morgause was pleased but not surprised to hear this. She was certain that, despite being raised by Uther, her little sister was far too intelligent to be swayed by his teachings that magic was evil, teachings that Arthur clearly swallowed unquestioningly. It made her proud to know that Morgana was willing to go against Uther to save one of their people from execution and it was all the proof she needed that, once Morgana was Queen, things would be very different.

Mordred nodded earnestly, looking up at her with wide blue eyes. **_‘She protected me and looked after me. Now it’s my turn to look after her.’_**


	7. Chapter Seven

For a few moments after he was startled awake, Merlin didn't know what it was that had disturbed his sleep. 

He sat up in his narrow bed, which creaked at the movement, blinking sleep dust from his eyes and listening intently. The only sound coming from the other room was the faint rumble of Gaius' snoring, a sound to which Merlin was far too accustomed for it to have woken him. There was no sound of running footsteps in the corridor outside the physician's quarters and the warning bell was not ringing, signalling the arrival of a threat that he would need to defend Arthur and Camelot from. All seemed to be peaceful... normal.

Two years ago, he might have dismissed it as nothing and gone back to sleep but his experiences in Camelot had taught him to be cautious and to trust his senses, to be constantly on alert for any threat and to be ready to deal with it at a moment’s notice. He sat very still in his bed, so that not even the rustle of his thin blankets could distract him, closed his eyes and listened.

**_'...next turn... not far...'_ **

The whisper-soft voice echoed in his mind and his eyes widened. 

He could make out only snatches of the unspoken words but he recognised the voice immediately.

It was a voice that he had heard before, over a year ago, when the pleas of a frightened young boy invaded his thoughts, begging him for his help. 

Although Gaius had drummed it into his head that he must never get involved when others with magic were hunted, and although he was usually able to make himself stand by rather than doing all in his power to help when he saw sorcerers dragged before Uther to be tried and sentenced to death, knowing that it was far more important for him to ensure that he could stay by Arthur's side to protect him and that it would be worth it in the end, no matter how much it angered him to see people like him persecuted, he could not bring himself to ignore the plea of the terrified Druid boy. 

Morgana's chambers were the only ones near enough for them to be able to reach before the castle guards caught up with them, and she was the only one he knew of who might consider giving shelter to a hunted Druid. She had defended Guinevere when she was accused of witchcraft and it was no secret that she disagreed with Uther's hatred of magic. Had she betrayed him to the guards, the Druid boy would have joined his guardian on the scaffold and Merlin would almost certainly have followed them. If his life was spared for his past service to Arthur and he was banished instead, or if he used his magic to escape, he would never have been able to return to Camelot and he would have had no hope of fulfilling his destiny. It was a relief to him when Morgana committed herself to protecting the boy and, by extension, Merlin himself.

He believed himself to be doing the right thing and it felt good to be doing something to help, for once, instead of having to turn a blind eye in order to ensure that he did not draw suspicion on his own head and jeopardise his position at Arthur's side... until he spoke to the Great Dragon, and heard his sombre warning to let the Druid boy die.

_“He is dangerous.”_

It was almost laughable to think that such a young boy could be dangerous but the Great Dragon was adamant that he was, and his insistence that the boy be left to die had sent an icy shudder coursing through Merlin, as had his prediction about what would happen if he saved him.

_“If the boy lives, you cannot fulfill your destiny.”_

He couldn’t believe that the Druid boy was destined to kill Arthur, who was prepared to go against his father in order to smuggle him out of Camelot and return him to his people, and who would change the kingdom for the better once he was King. The prospect of failing to achieve his destiny haunted him, so much so that he resolved not to help, to make himself stand by while the boy was captured and executed for the crime of having magic but he was not able to shut out his pleas. The boy’s cries for help echoed in his mind, until he felt that he must respond to them or go mad. Even the threat to his destiny with Arthur could not allow him to stand by and do nothing.

With hindsight, he believed that he had done the right thing.

As much as it unnerved him to think that, by allowing the boy to live, he had ensured that he and Arthur would never achieve their destiny, he could not have left Arthur without help. If he was caught helping a prisoner escape, even his status as the King’s son would not protect him, not entirely. He was certain that, when Uther questioned him, Arthur would swear that Morgana knew nothing of his plans in order to shield her from his anger. Uther would never kill Arthur, even if he was caught helping a Druid but he would not have allowed him to escaped unscathed. If he was willing to imprison him for disobeying his order not to search for the cure to the poison killing Merlin, who could say what he would have done to him for trying to free the Druid boy?

Arthur would never have trusted him again if he hadn’t helped him that night.

He would have dismissed him from his position as manservant, refusing to retain the services of a man who had betrayed him, and Merlin wouldn’t have been able to protect him from the threats that stood between him and his destiny as the Once and Future King.

Now that he knew that the destiny the Great Dragon told him of, the destiny in which he had placed so much faith, and for which he had risked his life and sacrificed so much, had only ever had a slim chance of being realised, he wondered if the Druid boy truly was fated to kill Arthur, if there was only the slimmest chance that he would, or if the Great Dragon had invented the threat for reasons best known to himself, trusting that any threat to his destiny would ensure that Merlin would do whatever he wished him to do.

It was possible that the boy was just an innocent child... but if he was innocent, why had he come to the castle in the dead of night? He must know that, if he was caught, he would be killed on the spot. He had been very fortunate to escape death last time and could not hope to be as lucky if he was caught again. Uther would not chance putting off his execution, for fear that he would escape a second time. The fact that he was communicating through his thoughts meant that he was not alone, so who was he speaking to, and where was he leading them?

**_'...Morgana's chamber is next...'_ **

Merlin was out of his bed in a flash, pausing only long enough to drag on his boots before he hastened out of his chamber and the physician's quarters, taking care not to wake Gaius, and ran in the direction of Morgana's chambers. Luck was on his side, for once, and none of the guards patrolling the corridors spotted him as he ran, keeping to the shadows.

By the time he reached Morgana's chambers, the Druid boy was inside, along with whatever companion or companions he had brought with him. 

Merlin strained to hear what was being said but the thick stone walls and heavy door muffled the sound. If the Druid boy was communicating, he was doing so verbally as Merlin could no longer hear his thoughts. He could make out voices in the room, even if he could not make out their words, one belonging to a man and the other to a woman. The latter sounded familiar but he knew that it was not Morgana's voice and could only think of one other possibility: Morgause.

Had she come for revenge against Morgana for thwarting her plan? 

Had she fooled the Druid boy into believing that she was a friend in order to win his trust? 

Surely he would not have deliberately led an enemy to Morgana after she had saved his life!

Or was Morgause not truly Morgana’s enemy?

Gaius had been unusually silent on the subject of Morgause and her interest in Morgana, declining to speculate about why Morgause had chosen to make Morgana the vessel for her enchantment and why the prospect of her death was enough to persuade the sorceress to abandon her plan to seize control of Camelot. He knew more than he was prepared to say, that much was certain, but he was unwilling to share his knowledge, even with Merlin, much to his irritation. The fact that Morgana had chosen to poison herself to end the enchantment that rendered the people of Camelot helpless made him feel confident that she was telling the truth about not being an ally of Morgause’s but it left him none the wiser about why Morgause was so interested in her.

Could Morgana have sought Morgause out, willing to kill Uther now that she knew that, once he was dead, she would be Queen? She had planned to kill him once before, though she hadn’t gone through with it, and could be tempted by the prospect of being Queen, and in a position to end the laws against magic, so much so that she might be prepared to side with an enemy of Camelot.

He pressed his ear against the door, hoping to be able to make out what was being said inside the chamber, so that he could know if he ought to fetch Arthur. 

For a moment, the voices were a little clearer but then there was silence. He could hear no voices, no sounds of movement, even the air was still. He was afraid that they might have realised that somebody was listening, and was ready to use his magic to defend himself if he was attacked, little as he liked the idea of allowing Morgana to see him do so, but nobody made a move to look outside the room and nobody tried to use magic to neutralise anybody in the vicinity. One of them had cast a spell to ensure that no passing guard would hear anything from. He cursed himself for not studying the book of spells Gaius had given him more diligently, thinking that it might have contained a spell that would allow him to penetrate the bubble of silence surrounding Morgana’s chambers. He could not take the chance of running back to his chambers to try to find a suitable spell, as they could be gone by the time he returned.

He kept his ear pressed to the door, though he knew it was futile. After a minute or so, he squatted in front of the keyhole, squinting to see if he could catch a glimpse of those inside but the chamber was dark and he could only make out the blurry outlines of what he assumed to be furniture.

That was when he felt a rough hand seize him by the collar, yanking him to his feet.

“What do you think you are doing, you idiot?” Arthur demanded angrily, shaking him by the scruff of his jacket before releasing him, only to slap him across the back of the head, hard enough to make Merlin’s eyes water. “Do you realise how lucky you are that I was the one who caught you, not one of the palace guards? If the King found out about this, he’d have your head on a spike before you could blink - and King Olaf would want to swing the axe himself!” Arthur could only imagine how the visiting king would react if he learned that a servant was infatuated with the princess he hoped would be his daughter-in-law. Even if his father… even if Uther was inclined to show a modicum of mercy, understanding that Merlin was too much of an idiot to be expected to behave sensibly, Olaf would insist that he make an example of him. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t drag your worthless hide to the stocks right now!”

“There’s an intruder in Morgana’s chambers,” Merlin told him, not troubling to keep his voice low. If the sound of Arthur’s angry voice had not alerted those within to the fact that they were not alone, his words wouldn’t. 

As soon as he said it, he half-wished that he hadn’t. If the intruders meant Morgana harm, then Arthur might scare them off but, if they decided that one knight and one servant were no threat to them, they might stay and fight. Arthur couldn’t hope to fight off Morgause with his sword, not when she had magic on her side, and if Merlin had to defend him in such close quarters, before multiple witnesses, he was sure that at least one of them would see him using magic.

Arthur’s gaze narrowed in suspicion but he was too experienced a warrior to disregard any potential threat and, while he would never admit it, he would defend Morgana to the death from anybody who tried to harm a hair on her head. He motioned for Merlin to take a torch from the wall and unsheathed his sword, holding it in his left hand and using his right hand to open the door to her chambers, as slowly and as quietly as he could.

The room was empty, save for Morgana, who was sleeping peacefully until the light from the torch and the sound of their footsteps woke her. Knowing how rare it was for her to get a good night’s sleep, Arthur regretted having to wake her, though he knew that he had had no choice. No potential threat could be ignored, even if he had nothing more to go on than Merlin’s word.

“Arthur?” She sat up in bed, alert, eyes widened in surprise and alarm.

“Is everything alright in here?” Arthur asked, his keen gaze sweeping the room for any sign of somebody trying to hide in the shadows, waiting until his guard was down to pounce. “I had reason to believe that there was an intruder in here.” He barely managed to resist the urge to turn around to glare at Merlin. He had seen very little of Morgana since his aborted investiture, and this was the first time he had seen her privately since they learned the truth of their origins. Invading her chambers in the dead of night was hardly the best circumstances for a conversation.

“It looks like you two are the only intruders,” she remarked, her voice lacking her usual bite. Arthur supposed that even her sharp tongue was bound to be blunted by the late hour.

“Well, if you'd just permit me to search your room, we can leave.” He was almost certain that there was nobody else in the room, and that Merlin’s claim that there was an intruder was nothing more than an attempt to avoid punishment for being caught spying on the Crown Princess of Camelot - and, if that was the case, he was disappointed and angry with Merlin for lying to him and making him look like a fool rather than admitting the truth - but he had to take every precaution. He would never have been able to forgive himself if he left without checking and it turned out that there truly was an intruder in the room, lying in wait to harm her.

Morgana gestured for him to go ahead, shivering slightly as she drew her coverlet closer.

Arthur methodically searched every corner of the room in which an intruder might hide, opening the tall cupboard where Morgana’s gowns hung and checking behind every drape and every piece of furniture large enough to conceal a person. He even knelt down to look under the bed.

As he expected, there was nobody there.

“It’s all clear,” he told Morgana, to whom the news was no surprise. Please accept my apologies for disturbing you... my lady,” he inclined his head in a respectful bow, as befitted a knight to the Crown Princess and, seizing Merlin by the upper arm, hauled him out of the room before Morgana could voice a protest at his use of the honorific.

“There was someone in there. I know there was.” Merlin evidently lacked the sense to see when he should stop digging himself deeper.

“Did they vanish into thin air?” Arthur asked crossly. Merlin had no answer to this and his helpless shrug only served to deepen Arthur’s irritation. “A word of advice, Merlin. In the future, stick to what you do best: Nothing!” He was sorely tempted to carry out his threat to march his servant down to the stocks, both for spying on Morgana and lying to him, but he couldn’t bring himself to do so. Merlin had been loyal to him these past weeks, when others shunned him, deeming him no longer worthy of their respect now that he was no longer the Prince of Camelot. A spell in the stocks would be a poor payment for such loyalty so he decided to let him off the hook, just this once. “Go on back to bed before you manage to get yourself into even more trouble,” he ordered gruffly. “You needn’t think that I’ll let you off your duties tomorrow, no matter how tired you are!” Merlin would have nobody but himself to blame if his late night left him exhausted and Arthur was determined to show him no sympathy for it. “Go on,” he reiterated, when Merlin made no move to obey. “And don’t let me catch you spying on Morgana again, or I’ll have your guts!”

Under other circumstances, Merlin would have argued with him but there was no point. Arthur’s thorough search of the room made it clear that there was no intruder, and nothing he could say was going to convince him that he had been telling the truth rather than trying to come up with an excuse for spying on Morgana. He made his way back to the physician’s quarters and his chamber, angry that Mordred and whoever he had brought to Camelot had escaped, and with Morgana, who must have known that they were there but who had not sounded the alarm, leaving him to look like a liar in front of Arthur.

He was going to have to keep an eye on her, in case she decided to ally with Morgause after all.

* * *

Transportation was one of the most difficult forms of magic to master. 

Morgause was accurate enough as a rule but the slightest slip in her concentration at the moment she cast her spell could leave her miles away from where she wished to be and, when she had to transport somebody else instead of just herself, mistakes were even more likely to happen. For some reason, it was always more difficult to transport to a desired location indoors than one outdoors, and if she was not familiar with a building, it was all but guaranteed that she would reappear in a different room to the one she intended to reach.

However, for all the potential difficulties with transportation, it was by far the safest means by which to infiltrate Camelot. She knew from experience that the citadel and the palace were well guarded and that, once the warning bell rung, every knight and soldier would be on alert, combing every inch of the castle in search of the intruders. This way, they could get past the guards, hopefully to a dark, quiet corridor in the castle if she missed Morgana’s chamber, and make their way to her sister’s chambers without having to fight their way there.

She had seen little of the castle on either of her previous visits to Camelot. 

After she challenged Arthur, she was allowed to spend the night before their duel as a guest in the palace but it was made very clear to her that Uther would prefer it if she remained in the chamber assigned to her. A guard was posted outside her chamber, ostensibly to assist her and to fetch anything that she might require but she would have had to be a fool not to realise that the man would be watching her every move, ready to run to let Uther know if she ventured out of her chamber for any reason. She could be certain that he would have been informed of Morgana’s brief visit. The second time, she had had no time to look around her, as she and the Knights of Medhir methodically swept through the castle in search of Uther.

She was therefore familiar with the main rooms of the castle but, when she, Alvarr and Mordred appeared in one of the corridors, it was unfamiliar to her. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, reaching out with her magic to sense Morgana’s location but young Mordred didn’t wait for her. He ran on ahead, his tread so light that his footsteps made no sound.

**_‘I know where we need to go. We need to take the next turn. It won’t be far after that.’_ **

Grateful that one of them knew where they were going, she let Mordred lead the way while she and Alvarr followed, each with their sword at the ready. She did not like the idea of being armed when she entered her sister’s chambers; somebody had clearly influenced Morgana against her and the last thing she wanted was to frighten her but she knew that it would be foolish for her to set foot in Uther’s castle without the protection of weapons as well as that of her magic, and she suspected that nothing would have convinced Alvarr to leave his weapons behind.

The corridor that Mordred led them to was one that was vaguely familiar to her, even in the darkness, and she knew where they were even before Mordred’s voice echoed in her mind.

**_‘Morgana’s chamber is next.’_ **

She hesitated for a brief moment outside the door to Morgana’s chamber, wondering if Uther might have moved her to new chambers following her investiture as Crown Princess. While it was true that Morgana’s chambers were fit for a princess - however much she might dislike Uther, she couldn’t deny that he had seen to it that Morgana enjoyed every luxury and comfort a king’s daughter was due, even before he was willing to acknowledge her - and while she suspected that Uther might shrink from the thought of ordering Arthur to vacate his chambers, she could not be too cautious, least of all when her sister was involved. 

**_‘She’s in there.’_** Mordred seemed to be able to guess what she was thinking. **_‘I can sense her.’_**

Morgause was not a woman who was easily impressed but she couldn’t imagine that anybody could fail to be impressed by this boy, whose powers were already formidable, despite his young age. Had she discovered a girl who was half as gifted, she would not have hesitated to take her for training as a future High Priestess. It seemed such a waste to leave him with the Druids, who would stifle his potential under their limited ways. Perhaps when they were finished here, he could go to live with Alvarr, who could help him hone his gifts until he was a formidable warrior and sorcerer, somebody who could deal the enemies of their kind a mortal blow. Perhaps it would not be long now before a boy like Mordred could take his rightful place in the world, respected and revered for his great gifts rather than having to live in fear.

Uther could have his knights to follow him but Morgana would have sorcerers and a High Priestess who held the power of the heavens in her hand.

The door to Morgana’s chamber was locked but a murmured spell saw the latch lift, allowing them to slip into the room. 

Her sister was asleep, tossing restlessly on her bed but did not waken.

Her eyes were ringed with dark shadows and her brow was furrowed in distress.

She wasn’t wearing the healing bracelet.

Morgause couldn’t understand it. When she first came face to face with Morgana, she could see that she was exhausted, so much so that she was prepared to speak to a stranger about it. Morgana must have felt the effects of the healing bracelet when it was left at the foot of her bed and known that its magic would be even more potent if she wore it. Why would she not take advantage of Morgause’s gift when it could help her get the sleep she needed?

She knew that they had more important matters to deal with but it still puzzled and annoyed her.

She laid a hand on Morgana’s shoulder, shaking her gently, not wanting to startle her too much. Her touch was enough to rouse her sister from her slumber. Her eyes flew open and she sat bolt upright in bed, breathing rapidly, her eyes taking a few moments to adjust to the darkness of the room before she could recognise who it was who was standing next to her or see Alvarr’s shadowy figure behind her. When she did, she pushed Morgause away, scrambling out of the bed, letting out a choked cry of fright and anger.

“It’s alright, Morgana, it’s me,” Morgause said soothingly, ready to incant a spell to silence her sister if she had to. She would prefer not to but she would do it if she started to scream for help. They had come too far and risked too much to lose everything.

“Stay away from me!”

“Quiet now, my lady,” Alvarr said, a flicker of amusement or derision in his voice. “You don’t want to be too hasty about calling the guards, do you?” He didn’t give her a chance to respond before he drew Mordred forward, pushing him towards Morgana. “The boy tells us that you and he are friends. I’m sure that you don’t want Uther’s men to catch him again, not after you freed him the last time he was here. You know what will happen if they do.”

His words had the desired effect. Morgana was quiet, sitting down on the side of her bed, keeping her back to the wall and her gaze flickering between her three visitors. No matter how much their presence unnerved her, no matter how angry she was over their intrusion, she could not make a noise that would give them away, not when they had the boy with them. 

Morgause was both relieved to see that her sister had calmed down and jealous that she would stay quiet for the boy’s sake but not for hers. Although she was confident that Morgana would not start shouting while Mordred was present, she took the precaution of casting a spell to muffle the sound in the room, in case tempers ran high and a guard overheard something he shouldn’t.

 ** _‘Hello, Morgana.’_** The boy’s lips didn’t move but she could hear his voice nonetheless. **_‘We’ve come to help you.’_**

“Help me?” Morgana couldn’t hide her bewilderment. “What are you doing here? Where are your people?” She knew that Arthur had succeeded in returning the boy to his people and she couldn’t understand why he would return now, when he knew how dangerous it was, rather than staying with his guardians, who would protect him as best they could. She reached out to draw him towards her, guiding him to sit down on the bed next to her and keeping a protective arm around his shoulders as she glared up at Morgause and her other companion. “Are you both mad? What possessed you to bring a Druid _child_ to Camelot? You know what will happen if Uther finds out! You need to get him back to his people _now_ , before you are all discovered!”

“I wanted to come,” the boy said earnestly, tugging gently at the sleeve of her nightgown to get her attention. He seemed to understand that his usual form of communication was unnerving for somebody with no prior experience of it and spoke aloud, though his voice was soft, as though he was unaccustomed to using it. “When I heard that you were in trouble, I followed Morgause and Alvarr and asked them to take me with them. The elders don’t know that I came. I wanted to protect you, like you protected me.”

“Protect me?” Morgana was bewildered, looking to each of the three of them in turn but their faces gave nothing away. “From what?”

“The King,” the boy said simply. “You have magic so he’s going to kill you before you can become Queen because he knows that you will make things better.”

“That’s all we want, Morgana,” Morgause chimed in, smiling warmly at her sister. She reached out to touch her cheek but, after seeing the scowl on her sister’s face, thought better of the gesture and withdrew her hand. “You have no idea how happy I was when I learned that you were the true heir to the throne.” Even the thought of her mother sharing a bed with Uther Pendragon could not taint the pleasure she took in the prospect of Morgana’s ascension. She had to believe that her mother knew what she was doing, and knew how important it was that there be a child of Uther’s blood with magic, ready to take the throne when her time came and set his kingdom to rights. “Once you are Queen, everything will be different.”

Morgana nodded automatically.

Once she was Queen, the first thing she intended to do was to abolish the laws against magic. Gaius told her about what it was like before the Great Purge, explaining that there had been many sorcerers who abused their powers to dominate others and that this is why so many of the people of Camelot supported the measures taken against magic but, while she agreed that those who used magic to do harm must be stopped, she was not going to allow innocent people to suffer for the sins of others, just because they had magic. The Druid boy was no less innocent than any other child in Camelot, and she would not see him, or others like him, murdered for the sins of others.

Things were tense between her and Uther after the boy escaped. Neither he nor anybody else could prove that she was involved, and there was no better alibi than being in the company of the King at the time of the escape but he still regarded her with suspicion, not satisfied with her claims of innocence. He didn’t speak of the matter again but she could feel his stern gaze on her and was sure that only his promise to her father… to Gorlois… kept him from questioning her any further. His faith in Arthur was such that, despite the fact that he was nowhere to be found during the escape, it never occurred to him to suspect him of involvement. She took care to keep out of Uther’s way over the next few weeks and, in time, things returned to normal. No matter what the consequences had been, she could never have regretted her part in saving the boy.

“I don’t even know your name,” she said softly, amazed to think that, despite the connection she felt between them from the moment Merlin barrelled into her chambers with the boy in tow, she still knew nothing about him, even his name.

His smile was joyous and cherubic. “My name is Mordred.”

“And I am Alvarr,” the third of the intruders cut in brusquely, evidently feeling that they had wasted far too much time and that it was time to get down to business. “I have over forty people who will follow me, all of them with magic - none as powerful as the boy, but they can do their share of damage, and each of them is willing to fight for our cause. They will do whatever it takes”

“I am the last of the High Priestesses,” Morgause said, staring intently at Morgana as she spoke and reflexively reaching out to touch her cheek, only to withdraw her hand when Morgana flinched away from her touch. “But those who follow the Old Religion still revere the priestesses of the Triple Goddess, and I will be able to gather more to your banner in time, I promise you that.”

“‘Our cause’? ‘Your banner’?” Morgana didn’t know what they were talking about but she didn’t like the sound of it one bit. “What do you want from me?”

“For you to be Queen, of course,” Morgause said, sounding surprised that she would have to ask.

“I _will_ be Queen,” Morgana pointed out, part of her wondering if this was a dream or if Morgause and Alvarr were mad. Her mind was still fogged with sleep and she knew that she wasn’t thinking as clearly as she would if she was alert. There was no question but that she would succeed Uther. Her claim to the throne had been bolstered in law in every way that Geoffrey of Monmouth could think of, she was formally invested as Crown Princess of Camelot, and the general consensus among the nobility and the common people alike seemed to be that her ability to wield the Sword of King Bruta without having the flesh burned from her hand meant that she was the true heir to the throne. It took a few moments for the pieces of the puzzle to slot into place and when they did, her eyes widened and she stared at Morgause. “You want me to be Queen _now_.”

“Of course we do!” Alvarr snapped at her, earning a glare from Morgause for his tone. “I have been hunted by Uther since I was a child, when your father declared war on sorcery. People like us have been slaughtered for more than twenty years and it’s time to put an end to it! It was different when Arthur was heir to the throne; he’s Uther’s creature and thinks as he does. We’d be no better off with him on the throne but with _you_ as Queen, this rotten kingdom can change for the better. Magic is not a crime. It is a gift. I wish to walk free and without fear. The High Priestess said that you would understand, and the boy too. Were they wrong?”

Morgana shook her head slightly, reeling at what he was saying. 

She could understand his feelings, and was all too aware of the fact that compared to others with magic, hers was a privileged lot. Her magic was still a secret and nobody would dare to accuse the King’s daughter of being a sorceress. Uther would kill anybody who dared to accuse her. She had the luxury of concealing her magic, of biding her time until she was in a position to change things for herself and for others like her but for people like the Druids, and like Alvarr and Morgause, they were forced to live in hiding, knowing that if they were caught by Camelot’s soldiers, they would be executed. She was terrified when she first realised that she had magic, afraid that she would not be able to keep it under control, that she would expose herself and that her guardian… her father… would have her killed for it. With Gaius’ help, she was able to keep her magic under control and she could only imagine how much worse it would be if she didn’t have him to confide in.

She could understand Alvarr’s desire to see an end to Uther’s reign and sympathise with his desire for freedom but what he was proposing… it was madness!

“We have been waiting for this day for so long, Morgana,” Morgause pointed out gently. This time, when she reached out to take Morgana’s hand in hers, she did not stop and Morgana did not pull her hand out of her grasp. “For too long, people like us have been persecuted for who we are but you can be the one to put a stop to it. It is what you were born for. You will be a Queen who understands that magic is a gift, one to be revered, not despised. Together, we can fight to bring Uther’s reign to an end and then…”

“And then what?” Morgana cut her off, her tone challenging. She looked from Morgause to Alvarr, wondering if either of them had given any real thought to what they were planning or if all they cared about was getting rid of Uther. “If I wage war on my father, what hope do you think I have of earning the loyalty of the people, or the respect of other rulers?” Uther had allies among the other rulers of Albion who would support him, especially as they would want to send a message to other ambitious heirs who did not want to wait to inherit their crowns. None of them would want to have to sleep with one eye open, for fear that their children would be prepared to commit patricide for the sake of gaining a crown a few years sooner. “If my father is killed by a sorcerer, I will have no hope of getting the people to accept it if magic is legalised. As far as they are concerned, I will have murdered my father for his kingdom, and they’d be right. I won’t do it!”

She wanted Uther dead once before. 

She thought that she could enlist Tauren’s aid to assassinate him, knowing that nobody would suspect her of involvement, and that Arthur would be too relieved that Tauren and his men spared her to ask questions about why they hadn’t killed her too. She placated her conscience with assurances that, in the end, Camelot would be better off without Uther ruling it, and fuelled her anger with thoughts of Gwen’s grief for her father and of the guardian who had sworn to protect her yet had her clapped in irons for disagreeing with him but, in the end, she couldn’t do it.

For all his faults, Uther loved her and he loved Camelot and believed that he was doing right by them both.

She feared what would happen if he learned of her magic but if she killed him, she would be no better than he was when he killed innocent people with magic.

That wasn’t who she wanted to be.

“Morgana, you must be reasonable,” Morgause began coaxingly, a frown creasing her brow and betraying that she had not expected to have any difficulty in persuading her to go along with this. “When you are Queen…”

“When I am Queen, things will be different,” Morgana vowed. “But I won’t hasten that day.”

“You would rather stand by while your people are slaughtered than deliver them from the reign of a tyrant?” Alvarr asked her coldly, a black scowl on his face. His hand clenched around the hilt of the dagger at his waist, an action that the other three could not fail to be aware of. Morgause muttered a spell that had him yanking his hand away from the hilt of his now red-hot dagger with a yelp and Alvarr turned his glare on her as he nursed his burned hand. “She’s a traitor to our kind.”

“You will not speak of her like that!” Morgause hissed furiously, standing between Alvarr and Morgana, as though to shield her from him.

Morgana was afraid that her chambers were about to become the arena for a magical duel but Mordred’s fearful voice cut in before it could come to that.

“There is somebody outside the door, and somebody else is coming,” he warned them. 

Alvarr cursed but subsided, recognising that it was in nobody’s interests for them to be discovered. He moved closer to Morgause, and Mordred jumped up from the bed to join them, giving Morgana one last, shy smile before he took Morgause and Alvarr’s hands. Morgana watched, awed despite herself, as Morgause chanted a spell that caused the air to swirl around the trio, sweeping them up and out of her chambers, leaving no trace of their presence behind.

She barely had time to scramble beneath the covers, lie down and close her eyes before Arthur opened her door.

* * *

As soon as they materialised in the forest outside the citadel, Mordred demanded that they return him to his people, his small frame radiating fury as he accused them of lying to him about Morgana needing his help. He would listen to no arguments or attempts at persuasion and Morgause finally relented, knowing that she had more important things to do than waste time arguing with an angry child. She used her magic to transport them to the Druid camp. The three elders were relieved to have Mordred back with them but made it painfully clear that they would appreciate it if Morgause and Alvarr did not pay them another visit.

“Well, that was a waste of time!” Alvarr griped angrily as they left the Druid camp. “You told me that she would be with us!”

“She will be!” Morgause insisted, rising to her sister’s defence. “She just doesn’t understand, not yet. She must believe that Uther cares for her, she doesn’t realise that he would kill her as soon as look at her if he knew who she truly is. His hatred of magic is so powerful that he would slaughter his own daughter for it. Once we make her see the truth, she will do what must be done.”

And she knew just what to do to make Morgana see the light.

* * *

It was comparatively rare for the royal family to eat breakfast together, as they generally preferred to eat their morning meal in their quarters but, as they had guests, they took the meal with them, sitting down to a more elaborate breakfast than usual, as Uther was determined to see to it that his ally could not find the hospitality of Camelot lacking in any way. He sat at the head of the table, with Olaf in the place of honour to his right and Morgana to his left, while Arthur and Olaf’s sons took their places further down the table, dividing themselves between the two sides. 

If Olaf was surprised to see Arthur included as a member of Camelot’s royal family, he made no remark on the matter and two princes of Gwynedd sitting closest to Arthur were deep in discussion with him about the training of the knights of Camelot, and how it compared to their own.

Merlin, Guinevere and four other servants were in attendance, each of them clad in their official livery, though Merlin was thankful to be spared the hat and cape. Three servants stood to each side of the long table, several paces back, ready to step forward if anybody required anything but otherwise remaining silent and keeping their presence as unobtrusive as possible.

Uther was in good spirits, glad to see that this visit was going well so far. Olaf might normally be fairly difficult to please, seeming to take pleasure in making unreasonable demands and then affecting dissatisfaction when they were not promptly met but he was clearly on his best behaviour for this visit, determined to be agreeable for fear that, if he was difficult, he would cost one of his sons the chance to be Morgana’s husband. It made things go much more smoothly. He listened intently as Uther spoke, nodding his agreement and chiming in with jovial remarks of his own.

“I thought that we might have a hunt tomorrow,” Uther said, gesturing for Merlin to refill his goblet. He was pleased to see the servant step forward without hesitation, pouring water from the carafe without managing to spill it over Uther or the table, or to trip over his own two feet. 

It wouldn’t be the first time that he managed to disgrace himself and Camelot before honoured guests and, if he was not Arthur’s manservant, he might never be allowed to wait at table.

His incompetence could be staggering at times, so much so that Uther couldn’t help but wonder if he had all of his wits about him or if he might suffer from some kind of mental affliction. There were even days when he was sorely tempted to find another position in the royal household for the boy, one that would not require him to serve royalty on a daily basis - a servant so incompetent and forgetful would usually be sent packing but, not only had Uther promised him a position in the royal household as a reward for saving Arthur from Mary Collins’ attempt to murder him, a promise he would not break, and not only did he respect his friendship with Gaius too much to sack the other man’s ward, he knew that there could be no question of Merlin’s loyalty to Arthur, and that was invaluable. In any case, no matter how much Arthur might complain about him, he would be quick to object if Uther attempted to remove the boy from his service, so he let him be.

“That sounds like an excellent idea,” Olaf said, nodding his approval. “My sons are all keen hunters, are you not?” He looked to each of his sons in turn, waiting for them to nod, with a couple of them voicing their eagerness to take part and the twins bragging about the stag they brought back from their last hunt, arguing good naturedly about whose arrow had felled the beast. “If I let them go hunting as often as they wished, there would be no game left in Gwynedd!”

“Do you hunt, Princess Morgana?” One of Olaf’s sons - Uther was going to have to learn to tell them apart sooner rather than later, if there was a chance that one of them was going to be his son-in-law - asked, regarding her curiously. His expression was neutral, giving no hint about whether or not he disapproved of the idea of a woman joining men on a hunt. 

“I do.” There was a challenging note in Morgana’s voice, one that made it very clear that she had no intention of allowing herself to be dissuaded from taking part in the hunt, or in any other activity she wished to partake in, no matter how much he might disapprove. If the young man had a problem with her choice of pastimes, she had plenty of other suitors to choose from. She was a sufficiently valuable marital prize to ensure that she would have no trouble finding a man who was quite happy to accept her hunting, swordplay and anything else she chose to do.

“Princess Morgana has taken part in hunts since she was a child,” Uther said, his stern gaze daring his guests to complain about it. While it was true that Morgana only hunted on occasion, when the nobility of the court hunted together on a special day, never joining Arthur and his knights on their frequent hunts, none of them had any business questioning her right to do so. He had had people, mostly ladies of the court, trying to dissuade him from allowing his daughter to join in such activities since she was a little girl, and the prospect of riding out in the forests was the first thing she had shown any real enthusiasm about since Gorlois’ death. He was only too happy to agree that she might take part, if it would make her smile, and no words of warning about the dangers of allowing her to indulge in unladylike activities could sway him. “She is an accomplished rider.”

“I am sure that my sons will enjoy any opportunity to spend time with the Princess,” Olaf said. He met the eyes of one of his sons, the one sitting next to Morgana, and gave him a pointed look.

The son in question turned to Morgana, a polite smile on his face. “Would you do me the honour of allowing me to take you for a walk in the gardens after breakfast, my lady?”

“I would like that, Prince Caradoc,” Morgana responded, politely if not enthusiastically.

None of Caradoc’s brothers betrayed any hint of dismay or even surprise at his request and none of them seemed to feel any jealousy over the fact that he was to have a chance to be alone with the princess whose hand in marriage they were all vying for. Uther wondered if they had arranged to take turns to spend time with Morgana away from the rest of the brothers; if so, he thought it a rather sensible arrangement, one that would allow his daughter to get to know each of them a little better before she was called on to make a decision about which, if any, of them she would marry.

He would not have said so to Olaf but he had had other potential suitors writing to him, hinting that they would like the opportunity to pay a visit to Camelot and be introduced to his daughter.

After the meal was over, Caradoc offered Morgana his arm, conducting her into the gardens. 

It was a warm morning but with enough of a breeze stirring the air to ensure that they remained cool as they walked along the gravel paths that weaved through the flower beds.

They walked in silence for the first few minutes, broken only by Caradoc’s polite remarks on the beauty of the gardens, and a stiff compliment about how their loveliness paled next to Morgana’s. 

She was accustomed to hearing flattery. As virtually every other lady at court was either married or of sufficiently mature years that it was not deemed scandalous for them to live at court when there was no Queen to take them under her wing and guard their chastity, she had been the chief focus of the knights’ flirtation since she passed from childhood to womanhood. She had had knights begging for the honour of wearing her favour, declaring that they would die of grief if she did not grace them with a dance, and vying to win tournaments so that they might be allowed to escort her to the feast that followed it. Bouquets of flowers from anonymous admirers were delivered to her room on a fairly regular basis, allowing her and Gwen the fun of guessing the identity of the donor, and she had even been the inspiration for some truly terrible love poems.

Never before had she heard a compliment so unenthusiastic.

At her prompting, Caradoc began to share some details about his life in Gwynedd, sounding much more enthusiastic as he described the great stone fortress where he had lived his life, the vast forests that ringed the kingdom and how he and his brothers rode out on patrol with their father’s soldiers. It surprised her to hear that, while King Olaf had men of noble birth serving as commanders of his army, Gwynedd had no order of knights to compare with those of Camelot.

“Do you like what you have seen of Camelot so far?” She asked curiously.

Apart from her visit to Ealdor when she, Arthur and Gwen joined Merlin to fight Kanen and his bandits, she had never set foot outside the kingdom. As a child her life was at Tintagel, and she never travelled more than a league from the castle until word of her father’s death reached her and she was told that she was to travel to Camelot to be the ward of the King. She was too caught up in her grief for her father to pay any attention to the countryside she travelled through and, once the knights escorting her from Cornwall turned her over to Uther’s care, the citadel became her new home and she was never allowed to venture outside its walls without an escort. Uther was even more cautious since Kendrick abducted her. She was not likely to have many opportunities to travel outside Camelot and was curious about Caradoc’s experience of travel.

“It is a fine kingdom, my lady, and one that Gwynedd is proud to have as an ally,” Caradoc told her politely but without any of the enthusiasm that shone in his eyes when he spoke of his home.

Love was not necessary for a royal marriage.

Morgana knew that and was resolved to make the best of her lot, to find a good man who would be a good husband to her, somebody with who she could share a friendship at the very least. If love blossomed, all well and good but if it did not, she felt sure that she could still forge a successful marriage with a suitable man. It was her duty to Camelot and one that she had no intention of shirking. However, she knew that her prospective husband would also need to want to make their marriage a success if they were not to be unhappy together and, while Caradoc was courteous towards her, it was painfully obvious that his heart was not in it.

What future could she hope to have with him?

The garden faded away and images began to unfold before her eyes, images of Caradoc, at least several years older than he was now, riding out on his horse with Guy and another man, one she had never seen but who was so like them that she knew that it must be Prince Olin, the eldest brother and heir to Gwynedd, the only son of King Olaf who was not offered for her. The friendly rapport the three of them shared was tangible and they made a close-knit and very effective team as they patrolled the borders of their kingdom. Then she could see the same three brothers, older now, their golden hair faded and streaked with grey, sitting around a table half-covered with maps and papers, deep in a discussion that she could not hear.

She let out a gasp as the vision faded and the garden came back into view, stumbling slightly.

“My lady!” Caradoc was quick to reach out to steady her, his blue eyes filled with concern as he regarded you. “Are you alright? Is the sun too hot?” Not waiting for an answer, he guided her towards a stone bench set in the shade of a great oak tree, gently pushing her to sit down. “Is there anything I can get for you? A cold drink, perhaps? Do you want to go indoors?”

Morgana shook her head, taking deep breaths as she got her bearings. She knew that she had a Seer’s gift but she had never before experienced anything like that. She wanted nothing more than to go to Gaius to tell him about what had happened but she knew that she couldn’t, not yet.

“You don’t want to marry me.” There was no doubt in her mind that this was the case. The Caradoc she saw in her vision was a man whose life was in Gwynedd and who clearly had no desire to leave it to make a new life for himself in Camelot. His place was with his brothers, not with her.

“My lady, if I have somehow given you the impression that I do not wish to marry you, I assure you that it was not my intention,” Caradoc told her quickly, sitting down on the bench next to her. “It would be a great honour for me and for Gwynedd if you would accept me as your husband.”

“But not an honour that you want. It’s alright,” she reassured him. “You can be honest with me. I won’t take offence, and I won’t say anything to anybody. I’d rather know the truth.”

Despite her reassurance, Caradoc was clearly hesitant, which did not surprise her. Uther had told her that she would be a sought-after match and that the other Kings in Albion would be eager to see her choose one of their sons as her consort. She did not need to know King Olaf well to know that he was keen to see one of his sons installed in Camelot, especially as he had so many of them. The last thing he would want would be for one of his sons to offend her by rejecting her.

After a silence of several minutes, Caradoc finally shook his head. “It is no reflection on you, my lady,” he told her solemnly. “You are the loveliest lady I have ever seen - though if you tell my sister that I said this, I will have to deny it.” His attempt at a joke fell painfully flat. “Olin is just ten months older than I am, and Guy came along barely a year after my birth. We grew up as close as triplets and all I ever wanted was for us to work together for Gwynedd while my father lived, and to support Olin however I could when the time came for him to be King. I swear that I will be a good husband to you if you choose me, and I will strive to serve Camelot however I can but…”

“But you don’t want me to choose you,” Morgana finished for him. “Thank you for being honest with me. Do all of your brothers feel the same way?” If they did, she would have a dilemma on her hands; she had no wish to be married to an unwilling man but, at the same time, King Olaf had brought his sons to Camelot so that he might offer them to her as suitors and he was bound to be offended if all five of them were rejected. Uther would also want to know why she didn’t want any of them and he might not share her aversion to choosing an unwilling Prince of Gwynedd.

“Guy would rather stay in Gwynedd,” Caradoc told her, apparently deciding to take advantage of the opportunity to make his feelings known. “But Gaheris would be overjoyed if you chose him. He is a good man and one who would be glad of the opportunity to be your consort. He’s always felt a little overshadowed in Gwynedd, with so many of us in the family, and I’d wager that he would be pleased to make a new life for himself, in a new place. As for Balin and Balan,” he paused for a moment, as though trying to choose his words with care. “I’d say that they’d be happy to live at Camelot. They’re skilled warriors and don’t be fooled by their joking and tricks; they can be serious when they need to be and are cleverer than they let on. However, I should warn you that if you take one of them, you’ll never get the other to leave Camelot. They’ve been a matched pair since the day they were born and marriage won’t change that. Father would be glad to agree.”

Morgana nodded, inwardly crossing the elder two princes off the list of potential suitors and resolving to focus on getting to know the younger three. 

“Do you think that we have been outside long enough to satisfy our fathers?” she asked, wanting to lighten the mood and to end the awkward walk.

“I should say so,” Caradoc said, casting a worried glance at her to ensure that she was well. He offered her his arm to escort her inside and they walked in silence until they were near the gate that would lead them out of the gardens and back to the castle. He turned so that they were facing one another. “It was nice to talk to you, Princess Morgana,” he said, his voice warm rather than merely polite. “I may not want to be your husband but I would be honoured to be your brother.”

“Perhaps,” Morgana replied neutrally. Caradoc might be of the opinion that his three youngest brothers would all be glad to marry her and make a new life for themselves in Camelot but that did not mean that they would share his view and, even if they did, they might not suit her. There would be other suitors in the months to come, and she wanted to meet them before she committed to choosing one prince over the others. “We will see.”

“Of course, my lady,” Caradoc said, nodding for a sentry to open the gate.

Once inside the castle, they parted company, she to seek out the court physician and he to report to his father, who was eager to hear every detail of their time together.

* * *

Gaius had half-expected a visit from Morgana since Merlin told him of the uninvited visitors in her chamber the previous night. His ward was inclined to be indignant that Morgana had concealed their visit, feigning sleep and leaving him to incur Arthur’s anger and to look like a liar but Gaius was not surprised. If Morgause had come to Camelot last night, it was very clever of her to bring the Druid boy with her. No matter how much Morgana distrusted her, no matter how angry she was over being used as the vessel for Morgause’s dark magic, she would never have called for help if it meant that the boy would also be captured. He was the perfect safeguard.

He smiled warmly at her when she arrived, hugging her briefly. 

“What brings my favourite patient to this dark corner?” He knew that he had to leave it to her to be the one to tell him what happened. The decision to be open with her about her magic had not been an easy one to make and one thing he had been adamant about was that she was not to learn of Merlin’s magic. He therefore couldn’t say anything that would let on that he knew of the visitors to her chambers, as she would want to know how he could have known of it. There was no way he could explain how he could know of the visit without betraying Merlin’s involvement. He had to trust that she would tell him of her own accord, once she was ready.

“Something happened in the gardens, when I was walking with Prince Caradoc,” Morgana began slowly, sitting down at one of the benches. She twisted her hands nervously in her lap and was grateful when Gaius passed her a cup of water and sat down next to her. He had been her rock since she first developed her magic and she didn’t know what she would do if she didn’t have him to confide in and to teach her ways to keep her magic from overpowering her.

“What happened?” Gaius asked gently, puzzled by her choice of topic. It was no secret that she was expected to allow the five Princes of Gwynedd to court her; the residents of the castle could speak of little else and were watching eagerly to see if she would favour one of them or if King Olaf would be disappointed when all of his sons were rejected in favour of another prince. He had had his concerns about the effect the strain of courtship would have on her and her control over her magic but he had not expected that a walk in the gardens would upset her so.

“I saw his future,” Morgana said simply. “We were walking, and I was thinking about the future we might have together… if we could have a future together at all, and then I saw it.”

“Was it like your dreams?”

“No.” She shook her head decisively. “It was much clearer. It was as if his life was playing out before my eyes. It happened very quickly, only a few moments, and he didn’t realise,” she added before he could ask. Gwynedd’s laws against magic might not be as harsh as those of Camelot but King Olaf was no friend to sorcerers and would not have hesitated to raise his concerns with Uther if his son told him that she was behaving suspiciously or that she had given any indication that she might possess magic. “It wasn’t just a daydream, Gaius, I swear it. I _know_ that it was his future. I just thought about it and then I could see it.”

“I see,” Gaius said, sighing deeply. “I had hoped that it wouldn’t come to this but I suppose that I should have known better.” He was speaking to himself as much as to her. Since the day Merlin arrived it Camelot, there seemed to be an unwritten law that whatever could go wrong, would go wrong and that everything would be as complicated as possible. He had hoped that the effects of the water from the Lake of Avalon would be limited to healing Morgana but it was painfully clear that this was not to be. “I never told you what antidote Merlin used when you were poisoned,” he began. “It was not a remedy of my brewing.”

“Then what was it?”

“Before I tell you, I need you to give me your word that you will say nothing of this to anybody,” he warned. He supposed that it was foolish of him to want to keep the truth about Arthur’s quest a secret, given that he no longer needed to prove himself worthy of a crown that he would never be allowed to inherit but the poor boy had lost so much already and he had no desire to see him exposed to further shame if it became known that he had not completed his quest for the trident of the Fisher King alone, as he had claimed.

“I promise.”

“When Arthur went on his quest to retrieve the Fisher King’s trident, Merlin followed him,” he told her. Her eyes widened in surprise at the revelation but he did not give her a chance to comment on it before he continued. “He didn’t plan to interfere but he wanted to be there if Arthur ran into trouble and needed his help. He was the first to find the Fisher King and, when he did, he gave him a vial and told him that a time would come when he needed it.”

“What was in the vial?” Morgana asked warily, disconcerted by the idea that she had been given an unknown substance to drink and worried about the side effects that might result from it.

“Water from the Lake of Avalon,” Gaius told her. To most of those with magic, and to those who followed the Old Religion, the mention of the Lake of Avalon would inspire awe, at the very least, but he could see that the name meant nothing to Morgana. How could it when she knew nothing about Avalon? Uther had seen to it that nobody would dare to speak of magic around Arthur or Morgana when they were younger. “Avalon is the land of eternal youth. Mortals are only supposed to glimpse it the moment before death. There are legends about the magic of the Lake but I have never heard of a mortal who drank from its water, until you.”

“What kind of legends?” Morgana wasn’t certain that she wanted to know but she couldn’t ignore the issue.

“It is said to have the power to heal, even if one is but a hairsbreadth from death,” Gaius said. “We may take it that this is true, given that it had the power to revive you when you drank hemlock. It is also said to allow clarity of thought. Another legend is that the magic of those who drink it will be enhanced, and that may be what is happening to you. It could be a blessing,” he added hastily, not wanting her to be alarmed by the prospect. “You’ve suffered from terrible nightmares for so long, and it may be that this will help you control that part of your magic. If you can learn to control your power as a Seer, you may not have nightmares anymore.”

He prayed that the effects would limit themselves to her Seer power; visions could be concealed easily enough, and even if Uther knew that her nightmares had stopped, he would be relieved rather than questioning it but it would be another matter if she suffered from more of the same magical bursts as those she manifested when her magic first awakened. For a time, Gaius had feared that Uther would carry out his threat to execute every one of the people suspected of having links to magic in his determination to protect Morgana. He would not stand idly by if there were further incidents of fires in her room or windows exploding. Even if he never suspected Morgana herself of sorcery, he would be certain that she was the victim of a magical attack, and would be determined to see to it that whoever was seeking to harm her was destroyed.

“There’s something else,” Morgana said, certain that this was not the full story. If her power as a Seer was enhanced, she would deal with that - in truth, the prospect of being able to control it rather than suffering from constant nightmares was a relief to her, no matter how it came about - but she needed to know everything. “What is it that you don’t want to tell me?”

“The Fisher King is… was… a figure of legend, my child,” Gaius began. “He was wounded in battle, many hundreds of years ago, but was able to stay alive long enough to return to his castle. There he remained, his wound never healing, but he was unable to die, until Arthur’s quest. Please do not ask me how the Fisher King was released from his misery,” he added firmly, knowing that if he told her that it was Merlin who had finally granted the man the peace he craved, she would know that the only way this could have been done was through the use of magic. “I have never encountered any tale that attributed the Fisher King’s longevity to water from the Lake of Avalon but…”

“There are no legends that give any other explanation for it,” Morgana finished for him, her voice eerily calm. If what Gaius said about the Lake of Avalon was true, it made sense that its waters had granted the Fisher King immortality. “Is there any way that we could know for certain if I…”

She couldn’t finish her question.

She might never have seen the Fisher King but Gaius’ words were enough to paint a chilling picture in her mind, of a man passing centuries in a ruin that was once a grand palace, one that might have rivalled Camelot in splendour, watching the seasons change and his body wither, helpless against the ravages of age, never dying but never truly living. 

The idea that she might suffer a similar fate horrified her. 

What could be worse than living forever while everybody she cared for died?

“I doubt very much that it will happen to you,” Gaius told her bracingly, knowing better than to let her brood over so remote a possibility. “I won’t deny that the water of the Lake of Avalon is magical but I cannot imagine that it is so powerful that a mouthful would confer immortality. You will have to content yourself with cheating death _once_ ; you won’t cheat it indefinitely.”

“I hope not,” Morgana said, resolving not to dwell on the matter. She had too much in her life to waste her time worrying about something that might never be.

All the same, however, she thought that she would feel better when she got her first grey hair.

"Is there something else troubling you?" Gaius prodded gently, not wanting to broach the subject of the previous night's visitors directly but hoping that she would confide in him.

"Morgause came to my chambers again," Morgana told him, shuddering inwardly at the thought of the woman sneaking into her chambers. The first time was unnerving enough, as she woke to find the bracelet she had declined sitting on a chest at the foot of her bed, gleaming in the late morning sunlight. She would have liked to believe that Morgause, who had magic like her, meant well, even if she was overzealous but she couldn't help but feel angry and unnerved over the intrusion. The second time, Morgause slipped into her chambers in the dead of night to cast an enchantment over her, one that would have made her the unwitting instrument of Camelot's doom. At least this time, Morgause did her the courtesy of waking her to speak to her. "She wasn't alone."

"Who was with her?" Gaius asked, alarmed. Merlin was adamant that the Druid boy was in Morgana's chambers with Morgause the previous night but that did not mean that he was the only person Morgause had brought with her.

“She had Mordred with her - he’s the Druid boy you helped last year,” she added. “I couldn’t let him be captured again, Gaius.”

“I understand.”

“And there was somebody else - a man named Alvarr.” The flicker of recognition in Gaius’ eyes did not go unnoticed. “Do you know him?” 

“I know of him by his reputation, and it’s a fearsome one. I know that he’s a sorcerer, and that he and his band of renegades have threatened to overthrow the King. He’s a fanatic, and his supporters follow him unthinkingly, blinded by his charisma. What did he want from you?”

“He wanted to bring down Uther and make me Queen,” Morgana confided in him. She knew that, having been made aware of a plot to commit treason, her duty as a citizen of Camelot demanded that she make the threat known to Uther, so that he could take steps to deal with it, but she couldn’t tell him, not when she could offer no explanation as to how she learned of it. Daughter or not, he would not spare her if he learned that she had magic, especially if he believed her to be in league with people like Morgause. Gaius was the only one she could trust with this information.

“I see.” In truth, Gaius was far from surprised. Despite his best efforts to keep Morgana’s magic a closely guarded secret, he supposed that it was inevitable that some would learn of it. Morgause was likely to have guessed that her half-sister also had magic, an inheritance from their mother, or else she had sensed it in Morgana when she last visited Camelot. Who knew who she might have told, if her goal was to rally support from other magic users to place her sister on the throne? The prospect of a Queen with magic would be a very tempting one for those who suffered under Uther’s laws, who were likely to have believed that they would be no better off once Arthur succeeded Uther. “What was your answer?” He prayed that his faith in her was justified.

“I said ‘no’, of course!” Morgana looked indignant that he should ask. “I don’t want to be Queen like that! I’d never be able to reverse the laws against magic, or announce that _I_ had magic, if my father was killed by a sorcerer. I don’t want Uther dead, even if I don’t agree with his laws.”

Gaius nodded, privately thinking that there might be some truth to the legends that water from the Lake of Avalon granted the drinker clarity of thought. While he did his best to help Morgana, he couldn’t help but be aware of how frightened she was, despite his efforts to reassure her that he could help her control her magic so that there would be no further accidents and that, even if Uther learned of her magic, he cared too much for her to execute her for it. Even before her magic was awakened, he knew that there was more to what had happened with the sorcerer Tauren than Merlin was saying. If she was seeing things more clearly now, it was a blessing. While Morgause, Alvarr and others might see the prospect of Morgana becoming Queen as their deliverance from persecution, she was far from ready to assume the responsibility of ruling Camelot and it was in nobody’s interests, least of all her own, for her to be thrust into the role of Queen too soon.

The fact that Morgause and Alvarr had wanted to put Morgana on the throne - something they might still be planning, despite her refusal to join them in their plotting - was cause for concern but he had faith that, if they made a move against Camelot, Merlin would be able to stop them.

“Gaius?” Morgana waited until he met her gaze before asking the question that had been weighing on her for some months, since she first met Morgause. “What do you know about Morgause? I feel as if I know her from somewhere, I have from the first time I saw her, but I don’t remember her.”

Gaius hesitated for a long moment, unsure how much he should tell her. It was one thing to speak to her about her magic but this was another matter. “She was born in Camelot but she was taken to the priestesses of the Triple Goddess, on the Isle of the Blessed, as a baby,” he told her at last, thinking that this was safe enough. “She will have studied magic all of her life, so she is very powerful and could be very dangerous.”

“But why do I feel as though I know her, if we never met until this year?” Morgana persisted. “It doesn’t make any sense! There’s something else, something that you’re not telling me.”

“There is,” he agreed quietly, “and if I were to tell you, I would be breaking my word. I swore never to speak of it. I trust that you will not ask me to betray a confidence but even if you did, I could not tell you.”

Morgana shook her head, frustrated by his refusal to answer her questions but knowing that she couldn’t demand that he break a confidence, especially when she trusted him to keep her secret.

“Thank you,” he said gently, inwardly resolving to have words with Uther as soon as Olaf and his sons were gone, and life in Camelot returned to some semblance of normality, and to urge him to tell Morgana the truth about her half-sister. He was confident that she would remain loyal to Camelot and she had a right to know about the existence of her only other living relative, apart from Uther himself.

Better that she hear it from Uther than Morgause be the one to tell her.


	8. Chapter Eight

King Urien of Rheged might not have responded to news of the fact that Camelot had a new princess who would one day be its Queen as quickly as King Olaf had, something Uther was certain his fellow monarch was not happy about, but it had not taken him long to send a letter of his own, openly offering his son, Prince Accolon, as a prospective husband for the Crown Princess of Camelot. His letter extolled the virtues of his son, praising him as a paragon of a prince, emphasising that he was heir to Rheged and that a marriage would therefore unite the two kingdoms, and declaring that Princess Morgana could hope for no better husband.

Uther read the letter but, for all the praise heaped on Prince Accolon, he couldn't feel any true enthusiasm about the possibility that he might become his son-in-law.

Urien's letter detailed the many examples of his son's prowess as a warrior and his skill as a general, stressing that Rheged’s army thrived under his leadership. The tone of the letter made it very clear that he took it for granted that the man who married Morgana would assume control of Camelot's army, and that he believed that his son would far outshine the current commander. Olaf's sons were all skilled warriors but, as far as he could see, none of them aspired to usurp Arthur's place, and all of them admired him as a warrior. Urien was a good man and a valued ally but his son was the pride of his life and he would not soon forgive anything he perceived as a slight to him, no matter how valid Uther's reasons for keeping Arthur in his current role. He could easily imagine Urien's indignant protestations at the thought of his precious son being relegated to the position of second-in-command, especially when the commander was not a prince but the illegitimate son of the late Queen by an unknown father.

Even if Urien and Accolon could grudgingly accept that it was Uther’s right to retain Arthur in his present position, they would undoubtedly press Morgana to replace him with Accolon as soon as she was Queen, giving her no peace until she agreed. Uther wanted her to be able to come to love her husband but, if she did, she would want to make him happy but he hoped that she would not be willing to sacrifice Arthur’s position to do so. Arthur would not want to be the cause of marital strife for Morgana so he would feel obligated to resign rather than putting her in a position where she would have to choose between her husband and her brother. Uther did not want that; not only had Arthur earned his position fairly, it was little enough for him to keep, after all he had lost.

Urien’s thinly veiled hints that his son had proven himself potent were also a deterrent for Uther, rather than an advantage.

He was not naïve and could imagine that the proof of Accolon’s potency came in the form of a handful of children with his features born to women who worked in the palace, or peasant women he seduced. He was all too familiar with the temptations of servant girls, and had indulged in such pleasures in his youth, but he always knew where to draw the line. It was one thing to have a little fun but quite another to allow it to reach a point where the discipline of a household fell apart because a servant girl who shared the bed of a king, prince or lord developed a swollen head, thinking herself special because she was favoured and inciting jealousy among other servants, who resented the idea that one of their fellows might gain special privileges in such a manner.

Worse still, if a child was born of the union, it could never be acknowledged, as it would shame any royal or noble house if it was known that their blood had mingled with that of a commoner. Such children might even become a threat, if they were held up as pretenders or if they became resentful of the lowly lot to which their mothers’ blood had condemned them. When Arthur first reached the age where he began to take an interest in young women, Uther made sure to warn him that, if he must dally with servant girls, he was to exercise caution and restraint. He had not wanted to have unacknowledged grandchildren living in the palace, brought up as servants or farmed out to peasant families. It seemed that Urien had not taken the same precautions.

He would not have Morgana endure the humiliation of seeing servant girls parading about the palace with their bellies full of her husband’s get.

The prospect of uniting Camelot with Rheged by marriage was one that merited consideration. Camelot was the mightiest and most prosperous of the Five Kingdoms but Rheged was a strong kingdom in its own right. However, the kingdoms were already allies through the treaty drafted to bind the Five Kingdoms. That treaty had been years in the making and he knew that the peace that currently existed between the Five Kingdoms was still a fragile one. If Camelot and Rheged were united, their combined strength would dwarf the other kingdoms of Albion, which might ally against them for fear that they would use their position of strength to dominate them. Also, while Camelot might be the mightier kingdom of the two, he could be certain that Urien would expect Accolon to be the true ruler of both, while Morgana was side-lined and that he would not allow.

He had not fought to unite this kingdom under his rule, reclaiming his family’s rightful place on the throne, in order to see Camelot treated as a dowry and claimed by his son-in-law’s family. When Morgana married, it would have to be a to a man who understood that he was to be her consort, not King in his own right, and that the children of their union would be Pendragons.

He could not imagine that Urien or Accolon would be prepared to accept that.

He sighed, setting the letter aside and crossing the room to stand by the window, which looked out on the training grounds.

Arthur was sparring with one of the princes of Gwynedd, using his right hand for the first time since it was injured. The match was clearly a light-hearted one, as both men were laughing and joking rather than focusing solely on the task of disarming their opponent. The other princes, along with the knights, were cheering them on and it pleased Uther to see it. To the best of his knowledge, not one of them had treated Arthur as though he was inferior to them now that he could no longer call himself a prince and their admiration for his skill as a warrior was unfeigned.

Although he had not openly asked Master Varric to report on the behaviour of the princes of Gwynedd, as he could not suggest that he spy on honoured guests he was not insensible of the fact that there were times when the palace servants could see things in guests that he might miss - Arthur’s manservant was proof of this; on more than one occasion, the boy had warned them of treachery on the part of a guest and he was invariably proved right. He was curious to know how the servants responded to them, if there was one among them who might present a charming, courteous façade to him and Morgana but behave arrogantly and unpleasantly in the privacy of the chambers assigned to him. However, Master Varric confirmed that all of the servants assigned to attend to their guests were happy with their task, and not one of them had asked to be replaced.

Olaf’s pride in his sons was justifiable.

They were all good men but they were making the task of narrowing down the list of potential suitors no easier for him.

He would be happy to accept any one of them as his son-in-law.

* * *

The morning of the hunt was clear, dry and warm, but not so hot that it would be uncomfortable for them to spend the day outdoors.

Merlin was grateful that he was not to be required to wear his official livery, as even Arthur and Master Varric had to concede that it was impractical to expect him to do so when he would be riding, even if he was coming along to wait on the royals and nobles when they broke off their ride to eat their noon meal. As important as it was to ensure that the royal family and their guests were served with appropriate ceremony, practicality could not be entirely ignored for the sake of appearance. While the day was mild, his livery was stiflingly heavy and hot and he knew that if he fainted while he was riding, it would be weeks before Arthur stopped calling him a girl.

His day’s work began at dawn, when he was expected to groom Arthur’s horse, see to it that his hunting gear was ready, light his fire, fetch water for washing, lay out his clothes and deliver his breakfast. One small blessing was that, now that Arthur was a knight rather than a prince, he seemed to have decided that he should dress himself from now on, instead of standing still and expecting Merlin to do it for him. As angry as Merlin still was to think of Arthur being denied the throne he had proven himself worthy of, he couldn’t help but be grateful for his determination to be more independent. Once Arthur was dressed and eating his breakfast, Merlin had to run down to the kitchens, where large baskets laden with food for the noon meal were waiting to be brought out and strapped to the horses on which he, and the other servants drafted to attend the party, would be riding. He was thankful that the basket he was given contained food, as he would not have wanted to be responsible for carrying the gold and silver plate.

Once he had his horse saddled and the basket secured, he led it into the courtyard and passed it to one of the other servants before he ran back to the stables for Arthur’s horse.

On his second journey back to the courtyard, he saw Morgana emerge from the castle, with Guinevere by her side, the latter giving him a sympathetic smile as she waved to him. Unlike him, Guinevere was not expected to come along for the hunt, and would have the morning and afternoon to herself now that Morgana was dressed and on her way. Merlin envied her, thinking that Arthur could learn a thing or two from Morgana about how a servant should be treated.

It did not take long for the party to assemble in the courtyard but there was a delay of several minutes as they took their places in the formation, ordered according to rank.

While the four newest knights of Camelot would never have questioned Merlin’s right to ride just behind Arthur, and while any other knights who might otherwise have taken offence had learned to tolerate it when Arthur’s manservant stuck close to his master rather than remaining a respectable distance behind those of noble blood, as befitted one of his lowly station, there could be no question of that today. The two kings were to lead the party, riding side by side and in step with one another, so neither could be accused of trying to push ahead of the other. Morgana and the Princes of Gwynedd were grouped immediately behind them, with Arthur in their midst - Merlin imagined that this was at Uther’s insistence that Arthur’s status as his stepson led to his inclusion - and the knights followed behind them. The servants were relegated to the rear of the group.

It made Merlin feel uncomfortable to be riding so far behind Arthur that he could barely see him. The Great Dragon might have told him that his destiny was dead but the instinct to protect Arthur was still very strong and he couldn’t help but worry about whether or not he would be able to defend him in time if there was an unexpected threat that required his magic to save him.

After they had been riding a couple of miles or so, Gwaine slowed his horse to give Merlin time to catch up, and then rode in step with him, ignoring the disapproving looks he got from one or two of the older knights, who clearly did not think it fitting for a Knight of Camelot - even one of the ‘commoner knights’ - to prefer the company of a servant to that of other knights.

“How is Arthur doing?” Gwaine asked in a low voice, as soon as the other knights were far enough ahead that he could feel confident that they would not be overheard. While Arthur put on a brave face in front of others, and while Gwaine admired him for never allowing the nobles to see that he was bothered by the change in their attitude towards him now that he was no longer heir to the throne, he wondered how he was really doing, and Merlin was the best person to tell him.

“Fine,” Merlin responded automatically. He saw Gwaine lift a sceptical eyebrow. “Well, maybe not fine,” he amended, remembering the way Arthur had thrown his most valuable ornaments around the room after he first learned the truth, and his barely perceptible flinch from time to time, when he was caught off-guard by somebody who addressed him as Sir Arthur, rather than Prince Arthur. “It’s been a lot for him to have to deal with, but he’s doing better now.”

“I bet it’s hard for him to see that lot around,” Gwaine remarked, gesturing to the group ahead of him, able to guess how Arthur must feel to have five princes in the palace to whom he must defer and to know that each of them was hoping to be the consort of Camelot’s future Queen. “The King didn’t waste any time trying to get Princess Morgana married off, did he?”

Merlin shook his head. Morgana had had the title of Princess for just a few weeks and it was clear that Uther was determined to see her safely married off to a prince before she was much older. 

Arthur had not been under the same pressure when he was the Prince. While Merlin was aware that it was understood that, one day in the near future, Uther would want to see his son take a princess or noble lady to wife, something he deplored as he knew that Arthur’s true love was a woman Uther would never deem worthy of being his son’s wife, Arthur had never been presented with a handful of prospective brides and expected to choose one of them.

He wondered what Uther would have done if he had already married Arthur off to a princess before the revelation that he was not a Pendragon by blood, and must therefore be disinherited. He couldn’t imagine that any king who expected his daughter to be the future Queen of Camelot would be pleased to learn that she was now the wife of a knight, while the young woman believed to be her father-in-law’s ward was actually the true heir to the throne.

Gaius was adamant that there was no way that Uther would be able to disinherit Morgana in favour of Arthur but Merlin couldn’t help but wonder if he would have had to _find_ a way to ensure that Arthur remained heir, in order to avoid causing offence to a fellow king.

Would it have been worth it if Arthur could become King, if it meant that Guinevere could never become his Queen, and a princess ruled by his side in her place?

“At least some good may come of this mess if Arthur is able to follow his heart,” Gwaine mused aloud. Seeing the expression on Merlin’s face, he grinned. “I’d need to be blind not to see the way he and Gwen look at one another,” he pointed out, though he refrained from mentioning that Lancelot had the same look in his eyes when he looked at Guinevere. “If he’s not a prince, Uther can’t expect him to marry a princess.”

“I still don’t think Uther would be too happy with him marrying a commoner.”

This was an understatement.

To his credit, Uther had done everything in his power to ensure that, though he was no longer a prince, Arthur was still treated with the respect due to a member of the royal family. He still regarded Arthur as his son, even if he had to call him his stepson, and Merlin couldn’t imagine that he would be pleased if Arthur announced his intention to marry a servant, or that he would want to be in a position where he was expected to treat Guinevere as a daughter-in-law and accept that, as Arthur’s wife, she would share in any honours Uther wished to bestow on him.

“He won’t, but what can he do about it? Disinherit him?” Gwaine asked with a grim smile. “Arthur wouldn’t be the first nobleman to marry a commoner - my father did it.”

“He did?” This was news to Merlin. He knew that Gwaine’s father was a noble - a fact that he continued to conceal, even after he earned his place as a knight of Camelot - but he had assumed that his mother was also of noble birth and was surprised to learn that this was not the case.

Gwaine nodded. “He met my mother while he was in the service of the King of Rheged, fell in love with her and married her before his parents had a chance to find out about the relationship and try to put a stop to it. They cut him off, of course, and named my uncle heir to their lands in his place but he was a great warrior - or so my mother tells it - so the King was willing to turn a blind eye to his marriage and keep him in his service. My sister and I were very young when our father died but when my mother approached the King to claim the pension she was due as the widow of a knight, my father’s parents objected. They insisted that they never gave him their blessing to marry my mother, and that this meant that the marriage was unlawful. King Urien didn’t want to offend a loyal noble family, and it suited him to save his treasury the cost of a pension, so he agreed that my mother was never my father’s wife and that my sister and I were bastards, with no claim on my grandparents’ estate or on his purse. I’ll say this much for Uther; he never turned his back on his own, and always cared for his daughter and made sure that she had everything he could give her, even if he didn’t tell her that he was her father. It’s more than a lot of noble fathers do for their bastards. Another man would have turned on Arthur once he knew that he was another man's son but he's been good to him too, under the circumstances. My grandparents denied my existence and would be happier if my sister and I were never born. They left my mother to do the best she could for us and didn’t care if we all starved to death!”

“Is that why you didn’t want to tell Uther that you were a noble before?” Merlin asked, shocked by what he was hearing, that Gwaine’s grandparents could wash their hands of their grandchildren. Even if they disapproved of their son's bride, how could they punish his children for his choices?

“Partly,” Gwaine agreed. “Once Uther made enquiries, my grandparents would have insisted that I was no kin of theirs, and convinced him that I was lying to weasel my way into Camelot. I wasn’t going to give them the chance to deny me something I wanted. They’d probably consider admitting that I’m kin now that I’ve been knighted,” he added, scowling, “but they don’t get to reject my mother, my sister and I when we were an embarrassment to them and then decide that I’m worth acknowledging after all, once another king finds me useful and they think that I can be a credit to their precious family name. Besides, I don’t want to give anybody the chance to say that the only reason that I’ve amounted to anything is that I’m of noble blood. I won't have my grandparents making claims that I take after them or their ancestors. I’d rather be a commoner knight.”

There were several moments of silence as they continued to ride along. 

“Some of the parents in Ealdor wouldn’t let their children play with me,” Merlin confided quietly, Gwaine’s openness about his past making him feel more open about sharing details of his history. “They called me ‘Hunith’s little bastard’ and acted like I’d corrupt their children just by being around them.” Even before people in Ealdor became aware that there was something different about him, even if they couldn't put their finger on it, there had been those who were determined to keep their distance from him and, worse still, who looked down on his mother. It got better as he grew older, at least for his mother, who regained the respect of her neighbours, even if they never warmed towards her son. “I never knew my father. He left before I was born, and probably never knew that he had a son. I know that he wasn’t from Ealdor; some people used to say that that was why he ran off, that if he’d been one of them, he’d have done right by us. They said that it was what my mother got for taking up with an outsider instead of sticking with her own people. I used to wonder why she stayed in Ealdor, when she could have moved to another village, called herself a widow and made a fresh start, without anybody looking down on her or me, but she told me that Ealdor was our home and that we would stay there. I think that she has never given up hope that my father will return to her someday, and she won’t leave in case he does.”

As a little boy, he shared his mother's dream that his father would return for them.

Once he was old enough to be aware that his gift was not one that he shared with any of the other children in the village, or even with his own mother, he began to wonder if his father had magic too, thinking that he was away doing something very important with his gifts but that one day he would come back to take his son away to teach him about it and they would have adventures together. His father would have built a fine house, in a prosperous village where the crops never failed and bandits never troubled the people, and his family would live happily there, together.

He badly wanted to have somebody like him to talk to about his magic, something even his mother was not comfortable with. When he came to Camelot and learned from Gaius that it was unprecedented for somebody to be born with magic like his, his relief at finally having somebody who understood about magic, even if he did not share his gifts, was matched by his disappointment at the thought that his magic was not his legacy from his father after all.

If his father had had magic, he could have understood why he left his mother and never came back to see how she fared. Even in Essetir, where magic was not subject to the same harsh laws as in Camelot, sorcerers were held in suspicion if they did not use their gifts in the service of King Cenred, who was rumoured to demand that they do terrible things for him. It was one of the reasons why his mother insisted that he keep his magic a secret; she'd feared that Cenred would view him as a tempting prize to be snatched. He could imagine how his father might have had to flee, to ensure that if Cenred's people came for him, he would not lead them to the woman he loved.

As it was, he had no idea why his father had left, why his mother still loved him, even after so many years of separation, or why she didn’t resent him for abandoning them.

For a while after he came to Camelot, he occasionally indulged in daydreams about what it would be like if his father turned out to be a lord and came to claim him as his son, and Arthur learned that the manservant he teased and loaded with chores was acutely a noble but the fantasy had faded as his belief in his destiny grew, and he knew that he would do greater things than any lord.

“Do you think that you’d like to meet him?” Gwaine asked, his voice far gentler than normal.

“I don’t know,” Merlin answered honestly, shrugging his shoulders. “I wanted him to come back for us when I was a child but he never did. I don’t know what I’d say to him now. I’ve always wanted for my father to be proud of me.” 

Would his father be proud if he knew that his son was a servant? 

He had lost his chance to help build Albion, to make the land a better place and to become the closest and most trusted advisor of the Once and Future King. Would he spend the rest of his life as Arthur’s servant, separated from him by their gulf in rank? Would a day ever come when he could tell Arthur the truth about his magic? Would he ever be able to tell him that he was once destined to be the greatest King Albion would ever know, before everything went wrong?

If his father came looking for him, would he be pleased or disappointed with the son he found?

“I think that your father would be very proud of you, if he knew you,” Gwaine told him, his tone brooking no argument. “You’re a good man and a good friend and, if Uther wasn’t such a stick in the mud, he’d have knighted you along with the rest of us. Your father would be lucky if you decided to let him be a part of your life.”

Merlin smiled gratefully. “And I’m sure that your grandparents rue the day they gave up the chance to have you in their lives,” he told Gwaine, hoping that, whoever they might be, his grandparents had learned of all their rejected grandson had accomplished and knew what a mistake they made when they pushed him away as a small child.

Gwaine grinned, reaching out to squeeze Merlin’s shoulder. “It’s their loss, my friend, not ours.”

* * *

By noon, they had caught enough game to have to send several of the servants riding back to the castle with it and Uther decided that it was time to stop for their meal.

“There’s a perfect spot just ahead,” he told Olaf, gesturing towards a clearing near a spring.

After a long morning in the saddle, nobody was averse to stopping for a meal and a rest.

Once they reached the clearing, Uther watched as one of Olaf’s sons - perhaps he could suggest to Olaf that they wear different coloured shirts while they were in Camelot; he couldn’t think of any other way that he would be able to tell them apart - leapt out of his saddle and all but sprinted over to Morgana before she could dismount, reaching up to lift her bodily from her horse and set her on her feet, bowing deeply and kissing her hand. If Morgana was startled or offended by his gesture, she gave no indication of it, graciously accepting his proffered arm and allowing him to lead her towards the spot where the servants were laying out rugs for their picnic.

“I’m glad to see Gaheris and your daughter getting on so well,” Olaf remarked jovially from his side, and Uther took advantage of the opportunity to memorise the details of the young man’s appearance, noting that his hair curled more than that of any of his brothers and that his shoulders weren’t as broad. “He’s a fine lad, and he’d be as good a son to you as he has been to me.”

It took considerable effort on Uther’s part not to wince at Olaf’s words. He knew that his fellow monarch meant well, believing that he was doing a great service to a sonless King by offering him one of his brood but, as far as Uther was concerned, he already had a son. He was realistic enough to know that he could not hope to make Arthur his heir, even if he had been willing to hurt Morgana by depriving her of what she now knew to be her birthright, but it frustrated to see how many people believed that he would simply forget how dear Arthur was to him, and how many people expected that he would take his anger over Ygraine’s supposed betrayal out on their son.

He was still the same person he had loved as his son since the day he was born, and he was all that he had left of Ygraine. That alone was reason aplenty to cherish Arthur.

He could no more stop loving Arthur than he could walk away from the kingdom he had built, leaving it to fall to rack and ruin.

Gaheris was leading Morgana towards the picnic area when he stopped dead in his tracks, pulling her to a stop too. “Be careful, my lady, the ground is not entirely dry hereabouts,” he told her, removing his cloak with a flourish and spreading it over a muddy patch - one of very few on the well-worn and almost entirely dry path - before she could step in it. “If you will allow me, my lady,” he said, bowing deeply.

Uther managed to cover his incredulous laugh with a cough just in time and he watched as Morgana, after taking a few moments to recover from the absurd and unnecessary gesture, walked over Gaheris’ cloak to the picnic area and tolerated his fussing over finding her the plumpest cushion before she sat down, rewarding his efforts with a gracious smile and a few words of thanks. Olaf might think that his son was doing a fine job of charming Morgana but Uther felt confident that poor Gaheris had ensured that he was the last brother she would pick. Her tolerance for excessive theatrics from admirers had never been high.

In truth, he would prefer that she not choose Gaheris, if this was an example of what could be expected from him.

In some ways, Morgana was too like him for her own good, as she shared his stubborn nature and hot temper, which might prove to be her downfall. 

She would need somebody who could stand up to her when she was wrong and whose counsel she would respect enough to consider the speaker’s point of view. Gorlois had been that to him; a loyal friend and a devoted subject but also a man who would not hesitate to speak up when he believed that Uther was in the wrong, even if it meant courting his anger. He was renowned as a courageous warrior but Uther believed that it took just as much courage, if not more, for him to stand up to his friend when he saw a need to. There could be no doubt but that Gorlois had kept him from making some serious mistakes and, while there were times when it angered him to know that his friend did not see eye to eye with him, he appreciated how precious his honesty was.

Though she did not know it, Morgana had quoted Gorlois almost verbatim a year ago, when she challenged him over the blacksmith’s death: _“Only a madman hears the truth as treason.”_

At the time, it had infuriated him to hear her speak to him thus, and it made him even angrier to hear her speak the same words that Gorlois might have spoken, to see his friend’s spirit alive in _his_ daughter when the girl seemed to be constantly at odds with him, incapable of seeing his point of view or understanding that the decisions she so often condemned as harsh and cruel were necessary for the protection of his kingdom and its people. Now that he knew that his kingdom would one day be hers, he hoped that she would remember that day, remember how it made her feel when speaking her mind led to her being clapped in irons and that it would lead her to listen to those who disagreed with her and to consider their views rather than dismissing them out of hand.

If Morgana was fortunate, her husband could be as honest and courageous an advisor to her as Gorlois had been to him.

He doubted very much that Gaheris would be that man.

The cook and kitchen servants did a remarkable job with the picnic, rising to the challenge as they did every time they were called on to prepare a feast for his court and honoured guests. Even the fussiest of guests could not find fault with the array of food laid out for their meal. Everybody’s appetite was sharpened by their morning in the saddle and it was not long before the servants were clearing away most of the dishes, leaving only the sweetened wine, fruit and cakes. 

They relaxed over the last course, chatting amiably as they glutted themselves on the treats, and the conversation soon turned to mostly good-natured boasting about how many animals each had taken down. The five princes of Gwynedd were evidently accustomed to such rivalries, as they had all kept an accurate tally of their count for the day, as well as that of their brothers, in case one of them might make the mistake of thinking that he could cheat and try to take credit for another man’s shot. Uther felt a thrill of pride when heard that nobody had managed to outshoot Arthur, something that did not surprise him, but he contented himself with a slight smile, for fear that Olaf thought that he was gloating over his sons’ defeat and took offence.

However, he need not have worried that _he_ would be the one to offend Olaf.

“I don’t think that Father managed to hit a single thing!” one of the twins declared, the other seconding him with a guffaw of laughter. “Perhaps you’re getting too old for it, my lord.”

Uther imagined that anybody else who dared to speak to Olaf thus would earn more than the cuff about the ear he gave his sons for their impertinence.

“I’ll have you all know that I’m a better hunter than all of you boys combined,” he declared. He inclined his head slightly in Morgana’s direction. “I held back so that Princess Morgana did not have to bear witness to you losing to your father but perhaps that was a mistake, if it has given you such swollen heads. He rose to his feet, extending his hand to Uther. “What say we teach these youngsters a thing or two about hunting, my friend?” Olaf invited him genially enough. “And none of this nonsense with crossbows; we have spears with us, and I saw boar tracks not a mile away.”

Uther would have preferred to stay with the rest of the party but Olaf’s mind was made up and he was too conscious of his duty as a host to decline the other man’s invitation. He allowed most of the knights and servants to stay where they were, taking only four knights for protection and a few servants to act as beaters.

If he was fortunate, they would track a boar down quickly and be able to return to the party. 

He was under no illusion that Olaf might agree to give up before he had taken down a boar and defended his honour as a hunter. He would not be prepared to return to his sons without that.

He left it to Olaf to take the lead as far as tracking the boar was concerned, keeping his ears open for a boar, knowing that the animal could inflict a severe injury, even kill a man, if he was caught off-guard before anybody had time to kill it. For his part, Olaf seemed to be in his element, moving through the forest with a swiftness and a sureness that belied his advancing years and suggested that his claim to be a great hunter was not just empty boasting. His keen eyes scanned the forest for signs of a boar and he grinned in triumph when he found fresh tracks.

“It’s not far away, I’d say,” he opined, not troubling to wait for Uther to answer before continuing to follow the tracks, his hand wrapped around the shaft of his spear.

Even though they were moving as silently as possible, for fear of scaring off their prey, they did not hear their attackers approach until it was too late and they were upon them.

There were so many of them, over a dozen, and they attacked with brutal efficiency, slashing at the knights before turning their attention on the unfortunate servants, who were slaughtered before they had a chance to flee. In the midst of the melee, Uther heard words spoken in a strange tongue and saw a heavy rock fly towards the only knight who was still moving, crushing his skull.

Magic.

Who else but sorcerers would have launched so cowardly an attack?

He hurled his spear in the direction of one of the attackers and saw it sink into the chest of his target, who collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut. An instant later, he heard Olaf’s spear whistle through the air, then the wet thud as it found its mark in the chest of another man.

Before he could unsheathe his sword to defend himself, another incantation sent him hurtling through the air to crash against a tree. Stunned by the force of the impact, he could not force his arm to obey him when one of their attackers approached him, plucking his sword from his hand.

“King Uther, I presume,” the man drawled at him, his voice filled with contempt. At his gesture, two of his companions seized Uther by the arms, binding his wrists tightly with coarse rope before dragging him into a standing position. Out of the corner of his eye, Uther could see the same being done to Olaf. They were roughly gagged before either of them could utter a word. “There is somebody who is very anxious to see you. We’re here to escort you to her.”

* * *

Guy was the first to grow concerned over the length of the Kings' absence, suggesting that it would be as well for them to go after them, just in case.

"Father won't thank us for it," Gaheris pointed out, knowing their father's proud nature well enough to be able to guess his likely reaction if his sons followed him on the hunt.

"We won't interfere," Arthur ruled, taking charge out of habit and rising to his feet, motioning for the servants to begin to clear away the last remnants of their picnic. "If they are hunting a boar, we will keep our distance and leave them to it but it would be better if we were not separated for too long, just in case." He knew better than their guests that the forests could be a dangerous place. In the space of the past year alone, Morgana and Guinevere were abducted while on a pilgrimage to Gorlois' grave and his father was almost assassinated in the same spot. It was better for them to be cautious and risk causing offence than to risk harm to the Kings.

It pleased him to see that neither the princes of Gwynedd nor their escort questioned his right to give orders, taking his words as their cue to mount their horses and make ready to ride out. 

Despite his father... Uther's pledge that his position as commander of Camelot's military forces was to be his for as long as he wished to hold it, no matter who tried to challenge his right to hold it, he had felt certain that, any prince hoping to marry Morgana would expect that he would command the army after the wedding. It was a relief to see that, as far as this crop of suitors was concerned, it was still his right to take the lead. He could not have stomached it if it was believed that Uther allowed him to keep his position out of pity or a desire not to be seen to deal too harshly with him rather than because he had earned it but Camelot was his home. He had no desire to leave and, as long as he called it 'home', he would serve it to the best of his ability.

He had hoped that they would come across a pair of Kings who were either triumphant after felling a boar or indignant that their children and knights should have thought them incapable of taking care of themselves. He even imagined that King Olaf might claim that they had scared his prey away, if they came upon him and he was still empty-handed.

Instead, they rode into a scene of carnage.

"Close your eyes, my lady!" Gaheris called back to Morgana, too late to keep her from seeing the dead bodies strewn before them, even if she had heeded his instruction.

Four knights and three servants had been butchered, their bodies left to rot in the open air. Before they died, they had managed to eliminate several of their attackers, whose comrades had not taken the time or the trouble to recover their bodies for burial, instead opting to leave them to be scavenged by forest animals. It was clear that whoever was responsible for this attack had left in a hurry, as they had not even taken the time to strip the bodies of the knights of their armour or weapons, despite the fact that the craftsmanship was without equal in Albion.

They had cared about only one thing: capturing the Kings.

“I’d say that they were attacked by about fifteen men,” Caradoc said, after examining the ground. “It was a sneak attack; Father and King Uther never saw them coming until it was too late.”

“Cowards!” Balin spat the word, livid to think of bandits lying in wait to capture two men who, though his father would never admit it, were past their prime and ill-prepared to defend themselves against a force that not only outnumbered them but that caught them by surprise.

“Who could have done this?” Guy asked Arthur, deeming him the most likely to know the answer.

“I don’t know,” Arthur responded honestly. Uther had no shortage of enemies in his own kingdom; Arthur had long ago lost count of the number of times somebody had tried to attack his father or himself, to abduct or threaten Morgana, or to attack the palace in which they lived. If anything, the attacks against the King and his kingdom had been more frequent over the past few years and, though he was reluctant to jump to conclusions and prematurely dismiss all possibilities, more often than not, the threats to Uther and Camelot involved the use of magic.

“We can follow the trail,” Caradoc observed. “They can’t have much more than half an hour of a head start, some of us can go after them now, while the rest go back for reinforcements.” He had barely finished his sentence before his each of his brothers spoke up, insisting that they would be among the party going after their father and King Uther. He had expected no less from them.

“Who is to escort Princess Morgana back to the castle?” Gaheris spoke up, a trifle reluctantly. While his duty and preference was to ride to his father’s aid as swiftly as possible, he was also very conscious of his duty to the young woman he hoped would be his bride, if he was lucky enough to be chosen to marry her. King Uther would surely expect that the safety of his daughter and heiress should be a priority but they had very few knights with them, not enough to protect her in the event of a second attack, if he and his brothers did not join them.

“There’s no need for that,” Morgana cut in. “I’m going with you.” 

If her suspicions that Morgause and Alvarr were behind the abduction were correct - and it seemed far too great a coincidence for them not to be - she couldn’t help but feel that she was partially responsible, as she had not alerted Uther to their intrusion into her chambers. Had he known that there were sorcerers intent on ending his life, he might have rethought his plans to venture out of the palace for a hunt, or at least ensured that their party was not broken up. The least she owed him was to do everything in her power to bring him and King Olaf safely back to Camelot.

As she expected, more than one of the princes of Gwynedd began to protest against the idea of her joining them on what was certain to be a dangerous mission, though she noted that the twins looked impressed rather than aghast by her stance. She ignored them but it was not as easy to ignore the strong hand that clamped around her arm and began to tug her away.

Arthur marched her several yards away from the party, far enough away to be out of earshot if they did not speak too loudly.

“What are you thinking, Morgana?” he demanded and, as indignant as she was over his manner, there was also a part of her that was happy that he was behaving much as he always had towards her, after weeks of strained relations between them. “You’re the Crown Princess of Camelot. You can’t put your life in danger like this!”

“Like you never put your life in danger?” Had the situation not been so dire, she would have snorted in derision at Arthur, of all people, lecturing her on the need for the life of the heir to the throne to be preserved. He had never allowed concern for his own skin to lead him to hide from danger when his duty demanded that he defend Camelot. He didn’t even shrink from putting himself in danger against Uther’s orders and wishes when Merlin and Gwen’s lives were threatened and Uther deemed the life of a servant too unimportant to risk the safety of his son and heir. He was the last person who could demand that she retreat to the safety of the palace.

“That was different!”

“How? Because I’m a woman? You know that I can take care of myself.” None of the knights would have accepted a challenge from her, for fear that she would defeat them as much as fear of what Uther would do to them if she was hurt but she learned to fight as a child and, even after Uther decreed that she was old enough to set such pastimes aside and act like a lady, she continued to train in secret. She had watched enough of the knights’ training sessions to be confident that she could defeat at least a third, and perhaps as many as half, of them in single combat. “If you try to send me back, I’ll just follow you,” she threatened. Short of Arthur being willing to have her tied to her horse - which, admittedly, she would not put past him - she was confident that she would be able to evade the knights charged with escorting her back to Camelot. She was smaller and lighter than they were, and wore no armour, so her horse could easily outride them. “You know I’ll do it.”

Arthur growled under his breath in frustration but had nothing to say in response, so she knew that she was making headway with him.

“We haven’t the time to stand here arguing,” she pointed out. “And if I come with you, you only need to send one person back for reinforcements, while the rest of us go after Uther and King Olaf. You don’t know what you’ll be facing, you may need every man - and woman - you can get. Please, Arthur,” she said softly, laying her hand on his arm, “I need to do this. I need to help.”

He studied her for a few moments before nodding. “Fine, you can come with us, on two conditions. First; if there’s any fighting, you keep back as much as you can, and if I tell you to run, you run, no matter what, understand?” He waited for her grudging nod of acceptance before continuing. “Second; when Uther finds out that you endangered your life, you’re on your own. I’m telling him that I told you to return to Camelot but that you wouldn’t listen to me.”

“Agreed,” she said, not relishing Uther’s likely reaction when he learned that she had come for him rather than retreating to the safety of Camelot but knowing that she had to come.

“Good.” Arthur gave her a slight smile. “Now let’s go rescue our father.”

* * *

The ride was long and hard but the horses seemed to move with unnatural speed, the wind rushing by so fast that it whistled in his ears.

Strapped over a horse, bound, gagged and blindfolded, Uther had no sense of where they were and could only guess how far they had travelled or where they were going. After what seemed like hours, or even days, the air around him suddenly changed; there was no longer any wind or any sound and the air seemed to be bone dry and hot.

He was roughly jolted as the horse over which he had been strapped was spurred to gallop faster and his blindfold slipped a fraction of an inch, enough to allow him to make out something of the ground below if he squinted. He was surprised and horrified to see that they were riding over a vast expanse of sand, utterly devoid of any sign of life. There was not so much as a blade of grass or drop of water to be seen. As far as he knew, there was no place such as this in Camelot, or in all of Albion and the strangeness of his surroundings increased his sense of alarm.

Where were they taking them? 

Why had they abducted them in the first place?

There was no doubt in his mind that their captors were sorcerers but he couldn't imagine why they would capture him rather than kill him when they had him at their mercy. They must know that there was nothing they could do to blackmail him into altering his laws to allow them to use their foul magic with abandon once more. Never again would he allow sorcerers to be free to wreak havoc on his people, no matter how they tried to force him to comply. Morgana was young and not yet ready to rule; he would have thought that they would want to see him dead, in the hope that they could prey on his successor before she was strong enough to fight against them. If they knew that Morgana had tried to argue against his laws against magic in the past, protesting when sorcerers were executed and even trying to shield a Druid from justice, they might even hope that they could trick her into thinking them harmless, blinding her to their true, treacherous nature. 

Did they hope for a ransom? Or did they intend to use him as a hostage to force Morgana and his Council to relinquish the magical weapons and other objects that were confiscated during the Great Purge and held in the vaults of Camelot, where they could do no harm?

Whatever they had planned, he hoped that his Council would abide by his orders that Camelot would not negotiate with sorcerers as long as he was King.

The breath was knocked out of his lungs as the horse’s rider jerked it to an abrupt stop, dismounting and roughly yanking him down, with enough force to send him sprawling. He was not given the time to rise to his feet unaided before kicks from heavy boots spurred him to stand, jeering voices mocking him for his slowness and clumsiness, and feigning surprise and disappointment to see what the once great and feared King of Camelot was reduced to. Based on the volume of Olaf’s indignant protests, he estimated that the other man was no more than a few yards away from him, and that he was being subjected to the same degrading treatment.

Forced forward by the prod of a blade against his back, Uther walked, unable to see where he was going but feeling the change when he stepped from sand to paved stone beneath his feet.

Without warning, a solid kick to the back of his leg forced him to his knees and his blindfold was roughly torn away from his eyes, allowing him to look directly into a familiar, smirking face. 

“You!”

Morgause stood before him, her expression triumphant and spiteful.

Even after Gaius told him, he could scarcely believe that she was Vivienne’s daughter, the child he believed to have died shortly after her birth but, now that she stood before him, now that he knew, he could see Vivienne in her. He couldn’t believe that the lady he had called a friend, and protected as much for her own sake as out of loyalty to Gorlois, had lied to them all, telling them that her daughter had died so that she could have her smuggled into the charges of the sorceresses who pledged themselves to the Triple Goddess and the Old Religion.

What kind of mother was she, if she could choose to send her infant daughter away from her to be corrupted by magic? 

What kind of wife was she, to be able to bear witness to her husband’s grief over the death of his daughter, before he even had a chance to lay eyes on her, without being moved to confess her deception and bring their child back to the bosom of her family, where she belonged? He might have claimed Morgana when she was born, had he not known that Gorlois loved her as his own and would not be able to bear to have a second daughter torn from his life.

Had Vivienne lived longer, would she have allowed sorceresses to take possession of Morgana too? Would he have heard, through Gorlois, that his daughter had died of some childhood ailment and been left to mourn her, never able to tell anybody why her loss touched him so nearly, and little realizing that she was being infected with magic that would corrupt her innocence? Would Vivienne have allowed the sorceresses to turn their little daughter into his enemy? Might Morgana have died on his orders, without him ever knowing it? It didn’t bear thinking about.

He could feel some pity for Morgause, who was born an innocent babe and taught evil from her childhood but he could not allow feelings of pity to lead him to underestimate her or to shrink from striking her down, if he was given a chance. She was past saving now, much as he would have liked to draw her back from darkness, for Gorlois’ sake, and Morgana’s.

Beside him, Olaf was spluttering indignantly, demanding to be released and promising dire retribution from his people if they dared to hold him captive. His furious words only served to amuse Morgause and her followers, who laughed mockingly at him.

“What’ll we do with this one, milady?” One of the men who had captured them asked, seizing Olaf by his collar and shaking him slightly. “It seemed a shame to leave him behind when we could get two Kings for the price of one.”

“He’s all yours, Alvarr,” Morgause promised him, never taking her eyes off Uther, whose own eyes narrowed at the name. “Leave him in the dungeons for now, under guard. Perhaps you can get a ransom for him, if his people want him back badly enough to pay for him. If not…” She shrugged delicately, indicating that Olaf’s ultimate fate was a matter of complete indifference to her, but that it was unlikely to be a pleasant one if the ransom Alvarr demanded was not paid.

At least Olaf had a chance at freedom, assuming that Alvarr was willing to accept a ransom as a fair exchange for his life, instead of murdering him anyway, once the coin was in his possession. His sons would never leave their father to die if it lay in their power to save him.

Uther was less optimistic about his own fate.

Protesting loudly, Olaf was dragged away to the dungeon.

Morgause waited until he had been removed from the room before stepping closer to Uther and bending down, so that her face was level with his. Using the very tips of her fingers, as though contact with his flesh sullied her rather than the other way around, she tilted his face upwards. “I have something very special planned for you, Uther,” she told him, her voice dripping with venom as she spoke his name. “After all you have done to our kind, it is no less than you deserve!” She snatched her hand away, wiping her fingers on her skirt as though they were soiled.

At her nod, two of the men seized Uther by the arms, dragging him to his feet and forcing him to follow Morgause through the dusty, cobwebbed corridors, and up narrow, winding stairs, until she stopped outside a door, opened it and gestured for the men to toss him in.

The door slammed shut behind him, leaving him in total darkness.

He groped blindly as he slowly, haltingly paced the room, wanting to get his bearings. He almost jumped out of his skin when he felt something cold, wet and rough, like bark left soaking too long in water, brush against his face and his shoulders, tangling in his hair, lifeless fingers reaching out to grab him and never let him escape their grasp. A thick, viscous fluid dripped from the ceiling, oozing down his head to the side of his face. He tried to wipe it away but more and more fluid fell, clinging to his skin where it touched it. Try as he might, he could not shift it. He closed his eyes to keep the fluid out of them but it seeped through his eyelashes and even through the skin of his eyelids, until it felt as though he was drowning in it.

Time lost all meaning to him. 

For all he knew, he might have been in the pitch black room a minute or a decade.

_“Uther…”_

A soft, familiar voice echoed in his mind and he whirled around, both hoping to see another person and dreading the thought that she… if it was she… might be trapped here with him. He tried to tell himself that it was impossible, that she was gone, but his mind was growing more and more clouded and confused and he had trouble distinguishing what was real and what was not.

_“Uther…”_

“Who are you?” he demanded of the voice in the blackness. “Show yourself!”

A gentle, musical laugh echoed through the room. _“You know who I am.”_

It was true.

He knew who it was, even before the pitch black darkness of the room was illuminated by a soft glow that grew brighter and brighter, coalescing into a familiar, beloved form.

“Ygraine,” he breathed her name so softly that he could scarcely hear his own voice, as though she might disappear if he spoke too loudly.

Ygraine walked towards him, as lovely as she was the day she met her, looking exactly as she did whenever he could bear the pain of allowing himself to picture her. She wore a gown he remembered as her favourite, one she wore the day they were married, and the day she told him that she carried their son in her womb. It shimmered as she walked, the gold thread and tiny jewels illuminated by sunlight, even though they were in darkness. She was perfect… but _wrong_.

At first, he could not understand why the presence of his beloved wife filled him with fear and unease rather than love and joy.

He had had to live without Ygraine for so many years, had wished so many times that he could have her back with him, even if only for a moment, that this should have been a moment of pure joy for him, the second chance he had so longed for, but instead he instinctively shrank from her, wanting the darkness so that he did not have to look into her eyes… her _eyes_.

Ygraine’s eyes… the eyes that were part of her legacy to their son… held his gaze but they were wrong. Ygraine’s eyes were always filled with humour and compassion and love but the eyes that stared into his were cold and hate-filled, devoid of the warm spirit that was so much a part of her.

“Ygraine?” It couldn’t be her! Ygraine couldn’t have been reduced to this shell of herself, the love in her heart replaced by icy hate. “You can’t be her.” It was a plea rather than a statement. Had he not been paralysed with horror, he would have flung himself to his knees, begging to be told that this was not his beloved wife, that she was at peace, not here with him in this place of torment.

Her harsh, merciless laughter echoed through the chamber, turning the blood in his veins to ice.


	9. Chapter Nine

Sir Leon had not been pleased to be one of the knights singled out to return to Camelot to fetch reinforcements but he was far too conscious of the importance of securing aid as quickly as possible to protest that he should stay with the party. With Sir Lamorak to guard his back, they rode back towards Camelot as fast as their steeds could carry them, vowing that they would gather every available knight and soldier in the city and that they would follow behind them.

Elyan took the initiative to ride at the rear of their party, tearing strips off his cloak and tying them to branches at intervals, so Leon and the others would be able to follow them easily.

At Arthur’s instructions, Morgana was flanked by Lancelot and Gwaine, as well as Gaheris, Balin and Balan, all of whom had pledged to guard her with their lives.

Merlin might have been obliged to ride at the back of the party during the hunt, as befitted a servant, but he had no intention of staying so far away from Arthur now that they were riding into danger. He didn’t care if any of the princes of Gwynedd took offence at his presumption in spurring his horse forward, overtaking theirs, until he was riding by Arthur’s side. If they wished to complain about him after the two Kings were free, they were welcome to do so. He would gladly spend an afternoon in the stocks rather than risk that he would be too late to help Arthur in the event of a sudden attack. However, none of them seemed to notice where he was riding and, if they felt that he should have been sent back to Camelot with the other servants rather than dragged into combat, they did not say so.

He doubted that Arthur would have listened to them even if they had complained; he never had any qualms about Merlin riding into danger with him.

Perhaps, deep down, he sensed that he was safer with Merlin by his side than he was without him.

They kept up a steady pace, balancing the need for speed with their awareness that it would do more harm than good if they rode their horses into exhaustion.

Uther and Olaf’s attackers had a head start but they were still able to follow their trail without any difficulty, and Merlin did not doubt that they would be able to find them.

He paused in his train of thought, a frown creasing his brow.

It was almost _too_ easy for them to follow the trail. While it was true that those who captured Uther and Olaf would have been in a hurry, it was as if they had made no effort at all to try to cover their tracks. If they had magic, as was far from unlikely, given how many sorcerers wanted Uther dead, they would surely have been able to use a spell to conceal their tracks. Unless…

“Arthur,” he spoke in a low voice, not wanting to alarm the others if he could help it. “Doesn’t it seem like it’s a little too easy for us to follow their trail?”

Arthur nodded grimly. “Far too easy.” Although he would not have said so aloud, not wanting his servant to develop a swollen head, he was rather impressed that Merlin, of all people, had deduced this. He caught Caradoc’s eye and knew that he too had recognised that, not only had no effort been made to conceal their tracks, to delay them even if they knew that they would be found eventually, those who had captured the Kings seemed to have gone out of their way to leave a trail of broken branches and deep hoof prints in their wake, along with scattered scraps of fabric that had been caught in brambles. One of them had even managed to _drop_ his water skin.

A small child could have followed this trail with ease.

Whoever had taken them _wanted_ to be followed.

They were being led into a trap but, like him and Morgana, the five princes of Gwynedd had no choice but to follow.

Their fathers had been taken and they would do whatever it took to bring them safely home.

* * *

Even with his hands clamped tightly over his ears, Uther could not shut out Ygraine’s cruel laughter, any more than he could shut out the desperate pleas for mercy from the little children who cried out to him, promising that they didn’t mean to be bad and that they would be good from now on, if he would only spare their lives. He kept his eyes closed but he couldn’t banish the images of the tiny, dripping forms, their skins almost translucent, with a greenish hue, or protect himself from the wet, bony fingers that snatched at his clothes, his hands, and even his face.

Ygraine had vanished, replaced by a legion of dead children.

They crowded the room, barely leaving him with enough space to huddle against one of the far walls, desperate to escape the sight, sound, touch and smell of them but unable to.

Had there really been so many of them?

To his shame, he had long ago lost count of the number of children arrested alongside their parents, children who had already been corrupted by magic and who were past the point of saving.

Babes in arms might be taken from their mothers and fathers before they could be taught magic, and entrusted to the care of loyal families who would see to it that they were brought up to be good citizens of Camelot, put on their guard against sorcery, so that they might have a chance of escaping magic’s taint, but once a child was old enough to begin to learn to use magic, it was too late for them. Once infected with magic, it would take hold of their souls, twisting childish innocence into something dark and dangerous. The only mercy he could grant them was a quicker, more painless death by drowning or beheading. He would not allow a child to be burned at the stake when it was their parents who had doomed them by forcing magic into their lives.

He could still remember Arthur’s pale face and unsteady voice when he returned from his first command and reported that, under his command, the knights had raided a Druid village and killed every man, woman and child. Though he knew that it was necessary, and that he should be proud and relieved to know that his son could recognise the threat magic posed clearly enough to understand that even seemingly innocent little children could be damned by it, he had never wanted his son to have to carry the terrible burden of ending the life of a child.

The children paid no heed to his protests that he had had no choice, that their parents were the ones who truly wronged them by passing their knowledge of magic on to them, instead of letting it die with their generation, as it ought to have done. His pleas for them to let him be were ignored.

They surrounded him, pressing closer and closer until he felt that he would suffocate beneath a mound of tiny, cold, wet corpses.

The door to his prison opened, the narrow shaft of light so bright that it might have blinded him, if he had not squeezed his eyes shut.

When he opened them, the children were gone and he was staring into the brown eyes of Morgause, who crouched before him, smirking in satisfaction as she took in his distressed state.

“Did you sleep well, Sire?” she asked him mockingly. Her question horrified him, though he could not say whether his horror was at the thought that he had been in this dark, evil place a full night or that he had been there for only one night. “I couldn’t let the great King of Camelot spend the night in a dungeon, could I? I’m afraid that poor King Olaf has had to share his quarters with rats. After all you have done to me and my kind I knew that you deserved something _special_.”

Uther had to bite down on his tongue until it bled to keep himself from pleading with her to send him to the dungeons with Olaf and the rats. He refused to give this woman… this sorceress… the pleasure of hearing him beg her for mercy, or the satisfaction of refusing to grant it.

Morgause rose, reaching out to caress one of the objects that hung from the ceiling. The dim light was enough for Uther to see that it was a root of some kind but he could not identify it.

“The mandrake root is very special,” Morgause told him conversationally, as though she could read his thoughts - and how could he be sure that she could not? - and knew that he was wondering about it. “Only those with magic can hear its cries; the more powerful their magic, the louder the cries. But for those without magic, the magic pierces the very recesses of the soul, twisting the unconscious into the very image of fear and dread. You will find that your great kingdom counts for nothing, once you have lost your mind.”

“You won’t get away with this!” There was not the slightest doubt in his mind that Arthur and the knights were coming for him. Morgause might have her magic but he would bet on his son and the Knights of Camelot over a sorceress and her followers any day. Olaf’s sons were also fine warriors and would not hesitate to ride to their father’s rescue. Morgause, Alvarr and the rest of their band would rue the day that they dared to attack him!

Morgause laughed at him, as cruelly as the spectre of Ygraine had. “You’re going to pay for your crimes, I promise you that. Your wife’s bastard can’t help you - if he bothers to come for you.” She stalked out of the room without so much as a backward glance.

As soon as she shut the door behind her, plunging the room into darkness, the laughter and the pleas began anew, despite his efforts to shut them out.

They weren’t real.

They weren’t real.

He repeated it, over and over, but it was no protection against the onslaught of sounds, sights, sensations and smells that assaulted his senses, allowing him no moment of peace.

His cries of horror and dread mingled with the cries of the dead.

* * *

The trail led them to the top of a cliff and, once Arthur looked out over the valley below, beyond the forest to the vast, empty plain, he could see the tall, narrow structure. It was the only building for leagues, so dark that even though the sun shone down on it, it seemed to swallow the light. The very sight of it sent a shudder of fear and revulsion down his spine. He knew that this was where Uther and Olaf had been taken, and what it was. He raised a hand to signal that they should halt and, once he had everybody's attention, he pointed to the tower below.

"That is the Dark Tower," he told them sombrely. "It is a place that all young knights are taught to dread, and rightly so.

“I have never heard of it,” Merlin spoke up.

“With good reason. It’s said that the mere mention of it can bring doom to those who hear it.”

His father had forbade all mention of the Dark Tower, claiming that it was no more than a legend from the Old Religion, and nothing that a Knight of Camelot would ever have cause to fear. In his youth, Arthur was convinced that this was just an excuse, a way to ensure that none of the knights invoked the doom of the Dark Tower by speaking of it, and even as an adult, he was not certain that this was not the case. More than one of the threats that his father insisted was nothing but a myth had proven to be real. Despite the King’s orders, there were still knights who spoke of it to new squires in hushed voices, warning them to be on their guard. They might have made an effort to be discreet about some subjects in Arthur’s presence but they included him when they spoke of the Dark Tower and if even half of the tales they told were true, it was a place of terror.

“I’ve heard the legends too,” Balin spoke up. He sounded uncharacteristically subdued. “They say that time passes differently there; an hour outside could be a day inside, or a day might be an hour.” He craned his neck to get a better look at the forest below them. “That must be the Impenetrable Forest. I’ve heard that the trees have claws that can reach out and snatch you and tear you limb from limb. That a man can wander in and be lost forever.”

Arthur hadn’t heard the part about the trees but he wouldn’t be surprised if it was true. He had been told that the Impenetrable Forest lived up to its name.

“I won’t ask any of you to come with us.” He knew better than to think that Olaf’s sons would consider staying behind when their father was a prisoner in the Dark Tower, and he doubted that anything short of brute force would keep Morgana from coming with them but he would not ask his knights to join them on this quest, not when it could easily mean their deaths. “We will go on alone, and bring the Kings back.” He spoke with more confidence and optimism than he felt but he knew from the expressions on their faces that they were not taken in.

“No,” Lancelot said simply, his tone mild but leaving no room for argument. “I will go with you.”

“And I,” Percival said, with Elyan echoing him a fraction of a moment later.

Arthur would have liked to be able to send Elyan back, at the very least. He was the only family Guinevere had left and he knew how devastated she would be if anything were to happen to him. He didn’t know much about what had happened, as she shared little about her family with him but he knew that Elyan had spent years living away from Camelot, without having any contact with his father or his sister. The last thing he wanted was to lead Guinevere’s brother to his death so soon after they were reunited but one look at Elyan’s determined expression made it clear that, much as he loved his sister, he would not stay behind, even for her sake.

“They may not be maidens in a tower but I’ll still help you rescue them,” Gwaine volunteered with forced cheer.

Had he not already known that he made the right decision when he urged his father to bestow knighthoods on these men, Arthur would have had all the proof he needed after this. Part of him wished that Jasper could have been there to hear the ‘commoner knights’ he so derided choose to brave the perils of the Dark Tower in order to save the King.

“You can turn back, Merlin,” he told him. He was conscious of the fact that there were times when he took it for granted that Merlin would follow him wherever he went, regardless of the danger but this was one time that he could not assume that Merlin would be by his side. He had no right to ask, let alone demand, that he face the danger of the Dark Tower. He was touched but not surprised to see Merlin shake his head firmly in response to his offer, a determined expression on his face as he declared that he wasn’t going anywhere. Arthur reached out to clap Merlin on the back, thinking that some of Camelot’s knights and soldiers could learn a lesson in courage from this man they would undoubtedly see as inferior to them. “Thank you, Merlin,” he said quietly, giving him a slight smile that Merlin returned with a broad grin of his own.

They had to leave their horses behind before entering the Impenetrable Forest, as the pathways and gaps in the thick vegetation were barely wide enough to allow a man to pass, let alone a horse. They left them in a nearby clearing, by a stream but did not tie them up. If they did not return, Arthur did not want the horses to be left to starve to death, unable to free themselves.

Their progress was slow as they hacked their way through the forest. There was no trail to follow here; either they had begun to cover their tracks or there was another route to the Dark Tower.

Gwaine cursed aloud as his long scarlet cloak ripped on a thorny branch but did not slow his pace.

Despite the best efforts of the princes and knights charged with acting as her protectors to clear a path for her, Morgana’s now stained and torn green riding gown bore little resemblance to the pristine garment Guinevere had helped her don for the hunt. Long tendrils of hair escaped from a tight braid, occasionally catching on thorns and vines as she moved but, to her credit, she did not cry out or voice any complaints about the punishing pace Arthur set.

Percival’s sword snapped in two as he tried to hack through a particularly thick vine blocking their path. “Blunt anyway,” he said, discarding it and taking a dagger from his belt.

“Don’t stop,” Arthur ordered. He couldn’t see the sun and so could not accurately gauge how much time they had spent hacking their way through the forest but, if they had been at it long enough for a sword crafted in the royal forge, of the strongest steel in Albion, to snap in two, it had already been longer than he was comfortable with.

“We have lost the path,” Percival pointed out.

“We’ll keep heading north,” Arthur told him, recalling enough of the view from the cliff to know that the Dark Tower was to the north.

“How do we know which way is north?” Gwaine asked.

“The ivy,” Arthur pointed it out. “Pale leaves face south, dark leaves face north.”

When they got back - _if_ they got back - he was going to visit Sir Ector to thank him for his painstaking tutelage. During his time as a squire, his mentor had seen to it that, in addition to learning how to use each of the weapons in Camelot’s arsenal and studying battle strategy, he was taught about nature. At the time, he had found the days spent in the forest, listening to Sir Ector’s lectures about which plants were edible and about ways to navigate if he was lost, to be on the dull side, and would much rather have used the time to practice his swordplay, which he had considered to be a much more useful skill for a future knight to master. Now, however, he could understand the wisdom of the man’s teachings and was grateful to him for persevering, when another knight might have given in to the demands of his prince and let him have his own way.

After several minutes, they reached a clearing through which they could catch a glimpse of the Dark Tower.

“We are on the right course,” Lancelot said, his relief plain.

“No!” Morgana looked almost as startled by her cry as the rest of them were. She shook her head, her body trembling with agitation. “This isn’t the right way!”

“It’s alright, Morgana, we’ll make it to the Dark Tower by sundown,” Arthur said as soothingly as he could, inwardly cursing himself for agreeing to let her accompany them. At the very least, he should have made her stay behind with a couple of the knights once he knew what they were facing. He should have known that this would prove to be too much for her but it was too late for him to send her back now, and they didn’t have the time to stand around reassuring her.

“We won’t!” she insisted, jerking away from Gaheris when he tried to take her arm to help her. “We’ll just get lost!”

Before any of them could stop her, she spun around and began to run in the opposite direction, as fast as she could. They followed in her wake, knowing that they could not allow themselves to be separated, with Arthur calling out to her to stop and listen to reason. Being smaller and thinner had its advantages, as she was better able to weave through the maze of vines and thorns, always keeping far enough ahead of them that they could not catch her and force her back on their path.

At each fork in the path, it was as if she could travel it in her mind’s eye, in an instant. When she looked to the north, as Arthur advocated, she could see the forest rush past her, Percival’s broken sword and the scrap of cloth from Gwaine’s cloak. It made no sense; the Dark Tower was to the North but she could _see_ that travelling north would bring them around in circles. When she looked down paths leading to the east and west, they too conjured images of being lost in circles, and she felt confused and disoriented when the path to the east led towards a _setting_ sun.

She stopped dead in her tracks, the pieces falling into place in her mind.

If the path to the east led towards the setting sun, then it must really lead to the west.

If the path to the east led west, and the path to the west led east, it stood to reason that the path to the north led south so, if they wanted to go north, there was only one path they could take.

When Arthur caught up with her, his face was like thunder. The others followed hard on his heels.

“Have you taken leave of your senses?” he demanded of her, catching her by the shoulders and turning her to face him, punctuating his words with a shake. “We don’t have any time to waste, unless you want to spend the night here while Father is trapped in the Dark Tower! Come on!” He tried to pull her back on the path to the north but she dug her heels in, refusing to budge. “Morgana! If you want me to have Percival throw you over his shoulder and carry you, I’ll do it!” If he hoped that the threat would be enough to convince her, he was doomed to be disappointed. For his part, Percival looked decidedly uncomfortable at the prospect of being ordered to manhandle the Crown Princess of Camelot and it was a command Arthur would rather not give.

“Let her go!” Balin commanded sharply, stepping forward to gently tug Morgana from Arthur’s grasp and guide her a couple of paces away from him. Not giving Arthur a chance to protest that this was no time for him to play the part of a chivalrous suitor, he ignored him and focused his attention on Morgana. “Why do you think that we need to go this way, my lady?”

“We need to travel south to go north,” she told him. “I know how it sounds, but it’s true!”

“That makes no sense!” Arthur protested. “North is that way!” He gestured impatiently towards the path to the north and stepped forward, ready to shepherd them both back in that direction but he stopped when a shaft of sunlight shone through a gap in the vegetation. He looked down at the shadow at his feet, at the direction in which it was pointing.

“She’s right,” Balin said, seeing what Arthur was seeing and understanding what it meant. “This way is north.”

“How could you possibly have known that?” Arthur demanded of Morgana, now convinced that she was right about the direction they should take but at a loss as to how she knew which way to go when all of the signs in the forest had pointed in the opposite direction. There was something strange going on and he never liked it when he was not in possession of all of the facts.

“I don’t know,” she lied. She couldn’t tell him about the gift that allowed her to see the future of each of the paths they might have taken. He would never trust her if he knew of her magic. Even if she could persuade him that she was not evil, he wouldn’t want to entrust their fate to magic.

“Does it matter?” Merlin piped up, trying to divert Arthur. “We know which way to go now.”

“It makes sense,” Balin opined, not taking his eyes off Morgana. “It’s obvious that whoever took our fathers wants us to follow them. They probably cast a spell so she could find the way to the Dark Tower, since there’s no trail for us to follow.”

“But why her?” Arthur asked. Balin’s theory made some sense but he couldn’t understand why the sorcerers who took Uther and Olaf would choose Morgana as the one to be given the knowledge of the path to the Dark Tower. “What if we had left her behind?” He had had serious reservations about allowing her to come with them, agreeing against his better judgement. Surely it would have made more sense for him or one of the princes of Gwynedd, somebody who was guaranteed to be part of the group coming to the Kings’ aid, to be used to guide them.

“When we find them, we can ask them,” Balin suggested. “Which way should we go now?” When Morgana pointed out the direction she thought they should take, he grinned, offering her his arm for support as they began to make their way down a particularly treacherous stretch. “You heard the lady!” he called to the others, who fell into step behind them, some still sceptical about his theory but willing to follow Morgana’s lead for now, for want of a better option.

Morgana allowed her senses to guide her, trusting in her gift as a Seer to determine which paths would lead them around in circles and which would bring them closer to their goal. She was horribly conscious of the eyes of the rest of the party on her back as she led them through the forest and knew that it was down to her to see to it that they reached the Dark Tower in time to save Uther and Olaf. Gaius was right when he told her that the amplification of her Seer gift was a blessing, as it was the only way they could have found their way through the forest but she was also concerned. It was clear that Morgause and Alvarr - for there was no doubt in her mind that they were the ones responsible - had intended that she should follow them and she did not like the idea that they knew about her magic and her strengths when she did not know theirs.

When they finally passed from the darkness of the forest to a sunlit plain, with the Dark Tower directly ahead of them, she breathed a sigh of relief and was not the only one to do so.

“How far do you think it is?” Elyan asked, unable to gauge the distance.

“At least we can see where we’re going,” Gwaine said, glad to be out of the maze of a forest.

“Then let’s not stand there looking at it,” Arthur ordered, sheathing his sword, now blunted from the task of hacking through the forest, and preparing to lead their company onwards. He caught Morgana by the sleeve, turning her to face him. “Good job.” Later, when this was over and they had Uther and Olaf safely back in Camelot, he would apologise for his harsh behaviour towards her but, for now, a couple of words of praise would have to suffice.

“Come on,” Gwaine said brightly, stepping out ahead of the rest of them. “Let’s go save the day!”

* * *

At first, he could block out the cries.

Ygraine’s laughter had been hard and cruel and impossible to ignore, the sound piercing his soul, and the desperate pleas of the children mingled into a cacophony of sound that refused to be ignored but now, the only other sound in the room was crying, soft enough for him to shut it out if he kept his hands clamped over his ears. He kept his eyes screwed shut and, this time, there were no images that forced their way into his mind, no clawing hands reaching out to grab at him.

He couldn’t understand why he was being granted a reprieve of sorts and couldn’t take any comfort from the respite, not when he was afraid that something else, something worse, was lying in wait for him, ready to strike as soon as he let his guard down. Morgause had made it very clear that she had brought him here with the intention of making him suffer and driving him to madness and he knew that she would keep her word. His torment was far from over.

The cries did not grow any louder and he was able to block out the sound almost entirely… _almost_.

They were soft but unceasing and, even with his hands covering his ears, he could hear the increasing despair and desperation as time passed. There was a terrible familiarity about the sound of the cries, something he could not put his finger on at first, even after he reluctantly uncovered his ears so that he could hear them more clearly. When realisation finally dawned on him, his horror made his stomach churn violently and his whole body tremble with fear and fury.

“Morgana!”

What was she doing here? Had Morgause captured her too, forcing her into the room while he huddled in the corner like a frightened child, shutting his eyes and ears to banish the monsters? Was she truly so heartless that she could subject her own sister to this torture?

His eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, at least a little, enough to allow him to make out the dim shapes of the mandrake roots hung above his head. The smell of the dark, viscous fluid dripping from the roots was foul enough to make his eyes water and he had to step very carefully to keep from slipping in the small, slimy puddles left by their dripping.

“Where are you? Morgana? Answer me!” he pleaded with her, needing her to tell him that she was safe - or as safe as she could be, in a place like this - and that she had not been harmed.

He couldn’t see her at first but was guided by her cries.

The first thing he saw of her was the top of her head, which was bent over, her shoulders heaving with each soft, gasping sob. In the gloom, he could barely make out the outline of her form. She knelt on the stone floor, her arms held awkwardly behind her. The skirt of her blue gown was torn and dirty. When she looked up at him, her green eyes were filled with tears.

“Why did you do this to me?”

Uther felt his mouth fill with bile, guilt gnawing at him as he took in the sight before him, remembering all too well the day he had had Morgana chained to a wall in the dungeons as punishment for speaking out against him. She hadn’t cried then; he wanted her to, and had the guards stationed outside her cell under orders to alert him as soon as she indicated that she had learned her lesson, so that he could release her but she hadn’t shown any sign of weakness. In the end, she held out longer than he did and he accepted Arthur’s apology on her behalf rather than leave her in the dungeon any longer. Who knew how long her stubbornness might have sustained her before she gave in? The image before him did not match his memory of the true event.

He had had a young woman confined to the dungeon.

The Morgana who knelt before him now was a _child_ , about ten years old, the same age she was when Gorlois died and he was first able to have her in his life.

She never let him see her cry then and, as far as he knew, the same was true of Arthur and the attendants he hired to care for her but there were nights when he went to her chambers to check on her and he heard her sobs from outside her door, or when he slipped into the room after she fell asleep and could see the trails that tears had left on her pale cheeks. He respected her pride, which he knew to be an inheritance from him, and her need for privacy in her time of grief enough not to let her know that he had heard her crying. The last thing he wanted was to cause her further distress. All he could do for her was to be patient when she was being difficult, to ensure that those entrusted with her care would handle her gently, and to give her time to grow accustomed to Camelot, and to him and Arthur, so that she could be happy with them.

The last one had been the most challenging task of all.

“Why don’t you love me?” Little Morgana looked up at him, her face tearstained and her eyes tragic. “Why didn’t you come for me?”

“I didn’t know,” he pleaded with her. He had not meant to abandon her, and inwardly berated himself for the time he had spent trying to ignore the cries. How could he have ignored her for so long, leaving her to suffer in the darkness? He bent down to help her to her feet but she shrank from his touch, backing away until she was pressed against the wall.

"You knew but you didn't come for me," she accused him. Her voice was filled with far more pain than any child should feel. "You didn't want me. You never did!"

He could not pretend not to know the true meaning of her words.

"I wanted you. I wanted to do the best that I could for you," he told her, wishing that he could convince himself that this was true.

When Vivienne first sent word that she carried his child, he was quite pleased to think that he was to be a father again but his mild pleasure did not outweigh his misgivings, and it could not compare with the feeling of utter joy he had known when Ygraine told him that they would have a child, a joy that never faltered through the months of her pregnancy, until the terrible moment when his wife's life was snatched away. Even as he grieved for Ygraine, Arthur was a comfort to him, the love he felt for his baby son so intense that it caught him off guard, as he would never have imagined that he could love anybody as much as he loved his wife. When Morgana was born, his thoughts were less of her and more of what her birth might mean for Camelot and for Arthur, if it ever became known whose child she was. Gorlois forgave Vivienne and loved Morgana as his own, keeping the secret of her true paternity. Uther could admit that there was a part of him that was relieved that he would not have to claim his daughter, as he would have felt obliged to do if Gorlois rejected her, and relieved to know that his son was safe from any potential threat that his half-sister might pose to his claim to the throne, willingly or as a pawn in the hands of another.

Before Morgana was born, he chose Arthur's future security over having her in his life.

It was not an easy choice for him to make, and there had been many times that he wondered if he was overestimating the potential threat his daughter might pose to his son's safe ascension as King, weighing the possibility of claiming her and bringing her into his life, where she belonged, but he always resisted the temptation to claim her, always made Arthur his priority. He owed Ygraine no less than that he would put their son first, protecting him as she no longer could.

When he had the chance to tell Morgana the truth after she came to live with them, he wouldn't take it, choosing instead to let her and everybody else believe that she was just his ward.

Even now that he knew the true nature of Arthur's origins, he deeply regretted the necessity to strip him of his title and inheritance, so much so that, if he had the chance to relive the last couple of months, he would never allow it to become known that Arthur was not his son by blood, even if it meant seeing his kingdom pass outside his family line, even if it meant denying Morgana's right to know who her true father was, and cheating her of the throne that everybody would agree was her birth right if they knew that she was the only child of his blood.

"You don't want me, you want Arthur," little Morgana told him, sounding hurt and resigned rather than angry or resentful. "He's the one you love, the one you wanted. I’m just your mistake."

"I love you both," he vowed to her, but she just shook her head, not believing his words.

He reached out to take one of her tiny hands in his and wincing when he saw the livid marks the iron manacle had left on her delicate skin of her wrists.

He wanted to free her from her bonds, to take her in his arms and promise her that, though he had not planned to have a daughter, he loved her and never regretted her birth. He wanted to shield her from anything that might hurt her, whether that was the pain of knowing that he had chosen Arthur over her or the pain that another might inflict on her.

Instead, to his horror, as soon as his fingers touched the chains that bound her, the manacles began to tighten, drawing anguished screams from the child Morgana as they cut deeper and deeper into her wrists, until rivulets of blood flowed from them, dripping onto her gown and puddling on the floor. The chains lengthened, slithering down from the wall and coiling around her legs, waist and chest like snakes. As the chains tightened, Morgana's screams were choked off and she gasped for breath, her skin taking on a grey hue and her lips beginning to turn blue. When he tried to pull them off her, the chains tightened even more until he was afraid that they would break her bones. He has powerless to help her, every touch from him causing her further pain, and could only watch as she struggled in the grip of the cruel bonds.

“Stop this!” he bellowed to anybody who might be listening. Morgause could torment him if she wished but not his daughter.

“Father…” Morgana was barely able to choke out the word.

“I’m here.” He knelt next to her, careful not to touch her again, his heart breaking at the sight of her pain, but she wasn’t looking at him, she was looking behind him.

“I’m here, my sweet child.” Even a full decade after his death, Uther could recognise Gorlois’ voice. The man who was once his closest friend, his most trusted lord and his most valiant warrior brushed past him, not deigning to acknowledge him. He had eyes only for Morgana and, when he bent forward to pick her up, the chains that bound her dissolved into curling wisps of smoke. He held her close, the hands that had once wielded a sword in defence of the kingdom now gentle as he cradled Morgana in his arms and stroked her hair. “Father is here. You’re safe now.”

Morgana rested her head on Gorlois’ shoulder, her arms wrapped around his neck. The welts, cuts and bruises left by the chains were healed.

When Gorlois turned his attention to Uther, his expression was one of pure malevolence. “Did you really think that she could ever be yours?” he snarled, icy scorn in his voice. “You never wanted her before and you will never be able to take her back from me now!”

“She is my daughter!” Uther protested, even as his instincts screamed at him to tell Gorlois to take Morgana as far away from this terrible place as he could.

“When she was mine, I kept her safe. Can you say the same?” Gorlois asked, so coldly that Uther shuddered at the sound, horribly conscious of the fact that he had not always been able to keep Morgana safe. Even before anybody knew that she was his daughter, she was a target for his enemies and for those who sought to use her as a hostage, and he knew himself to be guilty of causing her pain in the past. “I believed that you would care for her when I no longer could but I was wrong! You have failed her!”

“No!” Uther’s cry of protest went ignored, as did his insistence that he loved Morgana and his vow that he would do right by her from now on.

Neither she nor Gorlois looked back as his once dearest friend walked away from him with his daughter in his arms, leaving him alone in darkness once more.

* * *

There was no door or gate to act as a barrier against entering the Dark Tower and no sign of anybody acting as a sentinel but they were all on their guard as they entered, moving slowly and cautiously, alert for any sounds that might betray that somebody was watching them, ready to attack. The corridor they entered was wide enough for them to walk two and three abreast but it bore the unmistakeable signs of a building that had lain abandoned for many years. The air was thick with dust, the walls and ceilings hung with cobwebs.

The skeletons of men who had met their doom at the Dark Tower were strewn along the ground.

How many of these men had had families who never knew what became of their loved one? Wives and children who waited, hoping that their husband and father would return to them one day, never knowing that their bodies were left abandoned to rot?

Arthur walked at the head of their group, his sword at the ready as he led them through the corridor and up a narrow, winding staircase. The others followed him as quietly as they could. Anybody who had a sword in his possession followed Arthur’s example and held it at the ready, knowing that it could be fatal for them not to be constantly on their guard.

“Something’s wrong.” Merlin was the first to break the silence. “It’s too easy.”

“Are you ever happy?” Arthur demanded of him, wishing that he could suppress the uneasy feeling that, for once, Merlin might actually be right. The thick cobwebs reassured him a little, as they had clearly gone undisturbed for many a year. Those who took his father and King Olaf must have entered by another route, as no man could hope to walk this way without tearing through the cobwebs. He had almost succeeded in convincing himself that Merlin was worrying over nothing, as usual, when a skeleton almost fell on top of him. He wanted to believe that the unearthly shriek he heard was just his imagination playing tricks on him but was unsettled enough to hesitate, while Elyan moved ahead of him, taking the lead and jogging up the stairs.

A moment later, they heard him call Arthur’s name and redoubled their pace, following the sound of his voice through a heavy set of double doors into a long, cavernous hall.

“Don’t come -” Elyan’s warning came too late.

Guy had scarcely crossed the threshold when a thick bolt whistled through the air and embedded itself in his leg. He cried out in pain, falling to one knee. Caradoc bent to help him to his feet.

Arthur turned to check on him and a second bolt flew in his direction, missing him by a scant inch.

“No one move!” he ordered. “Stay exactly where you are.”

“What triggered it?” Lancelot asked.

“It’s the flagstones, they must react to pressure.”

“Try this,” Balin suggested, tossing his sword on the flagstone in front of him and watching two bolts fly in the direction of the imagined intruder and strike the wall on the opposite side of the room. When he stepped on the flagstone a moment later, nothing happened. The second time he tossed his sword on a flagstone, there were no arrows, which confirmed his theory that there was a safe path through the hall, if one knew where to step in order to avoid the arrows.

His brothers, Arthur and the knights followed his example with their own swords and daggers. Merlin, unarmed, made do with his belt, coiled tightly in the hope that it would be heavy enough to trigger the trap. Morgana looked like she was ready to run ahead, as though she thought that she might be able to guess which would be the right path to take, but she didn’t get a chance. Arthur kept her with him, slowly picking their way to the far end of the hall, past the trap.

The ambush was waiting for them in the next room.

At least eighteen or twenty people, mostly men but with one or two women among them, attacked as soon as they made it out of the hall, giving no quarter. The fight was confined to close quarters, with their opponents doing their best to drive them back into the hall and the path of the arrows. They were neither as well trained nor as well armed as the knights of Camelot and the princes of Gwynedd but they fought ferociously, taking advantage of both the element of surprise and their greater familiarity with the layout of the area.

Morgana didn’t know if they were ignoring her because she was a woman and they assumed that she therefore was no threat to them but she wasn’t about to question the boon.

She took advantage of the fact that their attention was focused on the men of her party and ran towards the nearest staircase, allowing her instincts to guide her through the maze of corridors.

* * *

“How many do you think you killed over the years?” Ygraine asked conversationally, the lightness of her tone at odds with her spiteful words and the poisonous glare on her face. “Hundreds? Thousands? So many people are dead because you couldn’t live with what you did.”

Uther tried to shut out her words, to remind himself that this wasn’t real but, even though Morgause had _told_ him that the mandrake root would conjure images of fear and dread in its victims, that knowledge wasn’t enough to allow him to regain control over his mind.

Ygraine had returned after Morgana left, and refused to give him a moment’s peace.

The dead children flanked her, regarding him with haunted eyes. The only sound from them was the steady dripping of water from their soaked clothes to the stone flagged floor.

They were not the only ones.

The glassy eyes of disembodied heads stared down at him in mute accusation from the walls of his prison, while the sight and stench of charred bodies made him retch.

Vomit dripped down the front of his leather surcoat. He could not wipe it away or remove the garment because he could not force his limbs to obey his commands.

Nimueh drifted into the room, regarding him with cruel satisfaction, delighting in his suffering.

“You were the one who came to me for help,” she reminded him. “I warned you that there would be a price to pay. I warned you that, if I was to do as you asked, if I used magic to give your barren wife a son, another life would be taken in its place. You agreed to this. You never cared enough to ask me whose life would be taken. You were willing to pay the price.”

That was true enough.

At the time, magic seemed like the only solution to his dilemma. As terrible as it was to think of condemning somebody to serve as a human sacrifice, he believed that he could live with that choice. He believed that he would never have to know who had died so that he might have a son, and had consoled himself the thought that the person who died might be a criminal. He felt so certain that this was the best thing he could do for his kingdom, and reminded himself that the chaos that would follow if he died without an heir would result in thousands of deaths, not just one.

He had himself convinced that he was doing the right thing, until he realised who would die.

Had he known that he was to lose Ygraine, he would never have done it.

“What a waste!” Ygraine mused, leaning towards him and prodding him with cold fingers that were sharper than he remembered them. “You laid down my life because you wanted a son but the boy was never _your_ son. You lost the wife you held dearest to your heart and what did you get in exchange? A bastard who can never be King. It was all for nothing!”

Her last words gave him the strength to shove her away from him, returning her glare with one of his own.

“Ygraine would _never_ say such a thing!” Of that, he could be completely certain. She had loved Arthur from the moment she knew that she carried him and would have laid down her life for her child in a heartbeat. She would never say that Arthur’s life was nothing because he could not be King. She might be angry with _him_ for what he had done but Ygraine would never have held the circumstances of his birth against _Arthur_ , much less condemned him as worthless. Her words were all the proof he could ever need that there was nothing of his wife in this image of her. “You’re not my wife! You’re not real! None of you are real!”

There was total silence and, for a moment, Uther believed that he had beaten whatever twisted magic the mandrake root wrought on his mind.

Then they attacked.

They surrounded him, fingernails clawed at every part of his body they could reach, hands snatching at his hair and feet kicking his limbs as he struggled to free himself from the press of bodies that threatened to suffocate him. They were relentless and he feared that they meant to tear him to pieces. His attempts to fight back were futile, with more and more of them attacking, surrounding him so completely that he had no hope of escape.

He heard the door creak open, allowing light to enter the room, and then the sound of footsteps.

Gathering his last reserves of strength, he fought his way past the press of bodies but, instead of seeing Morgause standing there, gloating at the sight of his suffering, he saw Morgana.

She had barely crossed the threshold when she half-collapsed, her hands covering her ears in a futile attempt to drown out the shrieking cacophony that threatened to deafen her.

Uther felt the surge of power emanating from his daughter in a wave and then the icy darkness of the room was invaded by light and heat as the mandrake roots were engulfed in flames.

As the mandrake roots burned to a blackened crisp, Ygraine, Nimueh and the others vanished, leaving just him and Morgana, who was ghost pale at the realisation of what she had done, and who had seen her do it. Her hands trembled as she lowered them from her ears and her eyes were filled with fear and apprehension as she met his gaze, tensing as though she expected him to attack her.

He wanted to believe that his eyes were deceiving him but he couldn’t deny the truth.

“You have magic.”

* * *

Morgana let her instincts guide her through the maze of corridors and staircases that wound their way through the Dark Tower, knowing that they were guiding her towards Uther. Although there was no sign of Morgause, she caught sight of Alvarr joining in the fighting below and had no doubt that his ally would be somewhere in the tower and was on her guard as she ran, knowing that Morgause could be anywhere, ready to catch her.

She couldn’t deny that there was a part of her that understood their anger and thought that, if she had to live as they did, always on the run, never able to feel safe from being hunted by Uther’s soldiers, she would want to lash out at him too. However, she also considered their actions reckless and short-sighted. Uther was never going to soften towards magic if those who wielded it attacked him and his kingdom. They were giving him all the proof he would ever need that magic was a force for evil, one that could never have a place in Camelot. Gaius had told her that the reason so many of the citizens supported the Great Purge was that, before Uther took the throne and in the early years of his reign, they were preyed upon by sorcerers who used their magic to dominate, demanding extortionate ‘protection money’ and threatening those who refused to pay with curses. Thanks to the actions of some sorcerers, those people were ready to believe Uther when he told them that magic was evil, and were pleased to see him put an end to it.

She was under no illusions that she would have an easy time of it convincing the people to accept a change in the laws against magic once she was Queen. Judging from Gaius’ stories, there were many people who would have good reason to be wary if the practice of magic became legal once more, and who would need to see that protections were in place to ensure that they would not become victims again. They would have to be able to trust that she would balance ending the persecution of those with magic with ensuring that her subjects who did not have magic were safeguarded. It would not be an easy task at the best of times but it would be much, much more difficult if the people continued to have reason to fear that they would be the victims of dark magic.

She badly wanted for people to see that magic could be a force for good but that would never happen as long as Morgause, Alvarr and others like them continued to prove the opposite.

There would never be peace between those with magic and those without if this continued.

At some point, somebody would have to be the one to decide to end the cycle of hatred, fear and violence that had poisoned this kingdom since long before she was born.

When she reached the top of the last flight of winding stairs, she found herself in a dark, dank corridor, with one door at the far end, and knew that this was where Uther was being kept. There was nobody guarding the door, and when she scanned the corridor, she could see no statues that might spit arrows at her, as there had been in the hall below.

The coast seemed to be clear, until a violent gust of wind materialised in front of her. The force of the wind knocked her off her feet and her head collided with the stone flagged floor, stunning her.

For a few moments, her vision was too blurred for her to make out anything and, when it cleared, she saw a slender hand reaching out to help her to her feet. She looked up to see Morgause’s face looking down on her, soft with concern. Morgana pushed the hand away, unwilling to accept help from the other woman. The hurt expression on Morgause’s face at her rejection did not go unnoticed, but she refused to be moved by it.

“Forgive me, Morgana, I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Morgause said gently, reaching out to check her head for injuries and flinching when Morgana moved away from her. “But I couldn’t let you go in there, not yet.”

“What are you doing to Uther?” There was no sound in the corridor apart from their voices but that did not mean that all was silent in Uther’s prison. For all she knew, he was being tortured at this very moment but, when she tried to push past Morgause, the other woman caught her.

“Uther is paying for all he has done to our kind,” Morgause told her coldly before she released her from her grasp. “He deserves worse for his crimes, much worse. Do you know how many of our kind have died at his hands? He has been slaughtering our people since before you were born and for what? Do you know why he started the Great Purge?” She seemed taken aback when Morgana nodded but she recovered quickly. “He wanted a son but his barren wife couldn’t bear one. He was happy to use it when he wanted something, then he turned on it!”

“His wife died,” Morgana pointed out. While she privately agreed that it was hypocritical of Uther to persecute those who used magic when he was willing to use it himself, she could also understand the pain he must have suffered in the decades that followed Ygraine’s death. He had loved his wife so much that he chose to put his faith in magic so that he could have a child with her, when nobody would have condemned him for setting her aside and taking a new wife, one who would be able to bear the heir he needed. Losing Ygraine would have been painful for him under any circumstances but so much worse when he knew that his choice, his decision, had led to her death.

“He was willing to let somebody else die so he could have his precious Prince!” Morgause scoffed. “He had no right to complain that magic took the life of his wife rather than somebody else’s loved one. At least,” she added with a smirk, “he didn’t get to have his way. Uther might have raised him to follow in his footsteps but Ygraine’s bastard son won’t take your place on the throne. You’re meant to be Queen, Morgana. I didn’t know it before but I know it now. You will bring this rotten kingdom back to life and restore magic.”

“I told you that I wouldn’t be a party to Uther’s murder,” Morgana reminded her, determined to stand her ground in that regard. She would not allow her fear to rule her. She would not allow herself to forget what it would mean for magic in Camelot if Uther died at the hands of a sorceress. She would not allow herself to forget that, for all his faults, Uther cared for her. “I meant it.”

To her surprise, instead of reacting with anger, Morgause’s expression was sympathetic and compassionate.

“You truly believe that he loves you, don’t you? Even though he would never have recognised you as his daughter if the choice was left to him, and even though he would rob you of your rights as his heir for Arthur’s sake if he thought that he could get away with it. Even though you would be as good as dead if he ever learned that you had magic. He would be glad of the excuse to be rid of you so he could make Ygraine’s son heir in your place!”

Morgana would have liked to argue with her but she couldn’t help but think that Morgause was right, at least in some respects. She _had_ forced Uther’s hand as far as the question of acknowledging her was concerned and she would be far from surprised if Uther would have preferred to leave his kingdom in Arthur’s hands, both out of love for the son he had raised as his own from the day of his birth and a belief that his kingdom would be safer in the hands of a successor he had educated and trained for the role from his childhood.

“He wouldn’t kill me.” She tried to sound confident but she could hear the quaver of fear and doubt in her voice as she spoke. She badly wanted to believe that Uther wouldn’t hurt her but his hatred of magic was powerful, so much so that she couldn’t be confident that she would survive it if he ever learned the truth about her. For that reason, she was resolved never to let him, or anybody else besides Gaius, know about her magic until she was Queen and could begin to change the laws.

Morgause shook her head, pity in her eyes. She stepped aside, to allow Morgana to approach the door to Uther’s prison. “Uther is in there. If you truly want to rescue him, I won’t stop you.”

Morgana narrowed her eyes. “What kind of game are you playing?” she demanded. It couldn’t be as easy as this. After going to such trouble to capture Uther, and after all she had said about his crimes against magic, why would Morgause consider allowing her to walk out of here with him?

“I did this for you, Morgana, because I know that you are meant to be a great Queen. I hope that, in time, you will come to think fondly of me. The last thing I want is for you to see me as your enemy. If you want to save Uther, I swear by the Triple Goddess that I will not stop you.”

Morgana knew very little of the Old Religion but, even so, she could not mistake the seriousness of the oath Morgause took, nor did she doubt the sincerity with which she took it. She nodded in acknowledgement of the other woman’s words and began to walk towards the door to Uther’s prison, glancing back once to confirm that Morgause was not following her.

She had steeled herself for all manner of unpleasant sights, afraid that she would walk in on Uther being tortured, but she was not prepared for the _sound_.

The shrieking was shrill, unearthly and so loud that the force of it drove her to her knees, robbing her of her breath. She shut her eyes and clapped her hands over her ears but it did not diminish the force of the sound in the least. The shrieks seemed to increase in volume with each passing moment, until she felt as though her ears must be bleeding under the force of the assault. A cry of pain escaped her lips, completely drowned out by the screams surrounding her.

She could feel her magic stirring, the flickering flame within her bursting into a raging inferno.

For a moment, the shrieking became louder and shriller, even pained, while hundreds of small flames burned around her, and then there was silence.

When she opened her eyes, she met Uther’s horrified gaze.

How many times had she had nightmares about him finding out about her magic?

How many times had she woken in a cold sweat in the dead of night, crying out in terror and pain, convinced that she was being burned alive while Uther, the man who had raised her since childhood, watched her final, agonising moments, his contempt and loathing written on his face?

The fear she felt then did not compare to the terror she felt now. It took all of her courage to meet his gaze instead of running.

“You have magic.” His voice was hoarse and hesitant, his eyes pleading with her to tell him that this was a mistake, a trick of some kind. Would he believe her if she denied it?

“Yes, Father.” It was the first time she called him that to his face.

“No!” He shook his head, as if denying it could change the truth. “You can’t have magic, not you! You can’t be one of them!” Tears welled in his eyes and spilled down his ashen cheeks. “This is my punishment, for all the sorcerers who died. They cursed you!”

Morgana bit her lip to keep her own tears from flowing at his frantic, babbled words, her fears coming to life before her eyes. Her father was looking at her like he couldn’t believe that she was the same girl who had lived under his roof for the past decade, as though having magic made her a monster, somebody who would strike him down. It was scant comfort to hear him insist that she had been cursed rather than accusing her of studying magic in secret. She felt a warm, gentle hand on her shoulder and when she looked up, she saw Morgause looking down on her with pity in her eyes. The other woman stroked her hair briefly in comfort before advancing towards Uther.

“It’s no curse, you fool,” she spat at him. “It’s a _gift_. Morgana was born with magic and she is destined to do great things with it. Everything you have done to this kingdom and our people, she will undo as soon as you are no longer in her way. The Old Religion will take its rightful place in the hearts and minds of the people and there is nothing that you can do about it! This is what she is born for, what our mother intended for her - yes,” she confirmed in response to Morgana’s shocked reaction to her words. “Lady Vivienne was my mother too. I am your half-sister. Mother sent me to the Isle of the Blessed when I was born, so that I might study magic and serve the Triple Goddess. When you were born, I begged her to send you to join me, so that I could teach you all I knew, but she always refused. She told me that you were born for a different path than that of a priestess. I didn’t know it at the time but I know now that she meant you to be Queen, even then.”

Uther made a wordless sound of protest at this, drawing a furious, scornful glare from Morgause.

“Do you really think that my mother would have shared your bed if she didn’t know that it would be necessary for the future of our people?” she demanded of him. “I’m sure that it disgusted her to have a murderer like you touch her but she did what she needed to do to bring a Pendragon child with magic into the world if there was to be any hope of healing the damage you did. You should be thankful that all of Albion knows Arthur to be a bastard. His life can be spared if he is no threat to Morgana’s rule but I’d see him dead at your feet before I let you try to make him King!”

“Arthur has done nothing!” Morgana protested, alarmed by the venom in Morgause’s voice and the pleasure she took in Uther’s distress. She had known that the other woman was dangerous but had not appreciated how dangerous she was until now. “You will not harm him!” She pushed herself away, out of Morgause’s reach.

Instead of taking umbrage at her words, Morgause smiled at her. “I will not kill him if that is your wish, dear sister,” she said agreeably. “You will be Queen, it is for you to decide his fate. Arthur is no threat, not anymore. He will be spared if you would have him spared.” She gave Morgana another smile before advancing towards Uther, her hand outstretched. “You will die here, Uther Pendragon,” she told him, her voice cold and hard. “And with your death, magic will be restored to Camelot. You tried to destroy it but you have failed. It will be strong again, as it was before. Your kingdom will be ruled by a Queen with magic and it will be as if you were never there.”

“ _No_!” Morgana lunged forward, putting herself between Morgause and Uther before she could use her magic to strike him down. “Don’t kill him!”

Nothing good would come of Uther’s death.

She was more certain of that than she had ever been of anything in her life.

Ygraine’s death had sparked the Great Purge, and led to the deaths of countless people with magic. Uther’s death would only serve to perpetuate a cycle of hatred and violence that would consume all of Albion. If she stood by and allowed him to be killed, she would become part of that cycle and there would be no turning back. Those with magic and those without would never be able to live in peace with one another. There would be nothing left of Camelot but fragments of memories. The only hope for salvation was for the cycle to be broken and she had to be the one to do it.

“Don’t be afraid, sister,” Morgause told her as she brushed past her, her tone as dismissive as if she was speaking to a child. “Nobody need ever know that you were here when it happened. You can tell them that he was dead when you arrived, nobody will question it. You will be Queen and all will be well, you’ll see. You can close your eyes if you like,” she added gently. “You don’t need to watch.” Her eyes glowed gold as she began to chant the spell that would end Uther’s life.

“NO!” The wave of magic that burst forth from Morgana sent Morgause flying through the air to crash against the far wall. Before the woman - her _half-sister_! - could recover, she reached out to help Uther to his feet, anxious to get him out of there. He stared at her outstretched hand for a long moment before finally taking it and allowing her to help him up. He was silent, which was a blessing as this was neither the time nor the place for them to talk. “We need to get out of here,” she told him urgently. “Arthur and the others are fighting downstairs.”

Her hope that they would be able to get out of there before Morgause recovered was dashed when the woman pulled herself to her feet, eyes blazing with fury as she bore down on them.

Morgause’s next spell knocked Morgana flat on her back.

“You would choose _him_ over your sister?” Her outrage was palpable. “You would choose a man who would see you - his own daughter - dead because she was born with magic?”

“Never!” Morgause putting words to the prospect was enough to shock a response out of Uther.

She whirled toward him, an angry snarl at odds with her beautiful features. “You lie! You think that you can trick me into sparing you and give you the chance to kill her!”

“You gave me your word!” Morgana’s cry was enough to divert Morgause’s attention from Uther and her determination to kill him. “You promised that if I wanted to save him, you wouldn’t stop me. You swore an oath to the Triple Goddess.” Morgause’s face turned chalk white at the reminder of her vow. “I want to save him. If you don’t let us leave, you will be foresworn.”

“Sister, you cannot mean that,” Morgause tried to persuade her, all too aware of the consequences she would face if she broke an oath made to the Triple Goddess.

“I do,” Morgana insisted, rising to her feet to face Morgause. “We’re leaving this place, now.”

“He’ll kill you!” Morgause looked distraught at the prospect. “As soon as you leave here, as soon as you have nobody with you to protect you, he will have you murdered for your magic.”

“I don’t believe that he will,” Morgana said, sounding more confident than she felt. “You told me that it was my choice, and I’ve made it. Now I call on you keep your word and let us leave in peace.” Morgause’s shoulders slumped in defeat at her words and she slowly lowered her hand to her side, her oath preventing her from taking any further action against Uther. Morgana relaxed a little at the sight, her tone softening. “I want things to change just as much as you do,” she told her. “But this isn’t the way. One day, it will be different, for everybody, but if we keep killing one another, none of us will be here to see it. I want you to be there to see it.” She could hear the faint sounds of running footsteps climbing the stairs and knew in her heart that Arthur and the others had been victorious and that it was they who approached, not Alvarr and his men. “You need to leave now,” she told Morgause, “while you still can.”

Morgause’s distress was palpable but she nodded acquiescence. “If he tries to harm you, I will be there to keep you safe,” she vowed. “My oath won’t protect him then.”

“I know.” In a way, it was a comfort to know that she had protection and she managed a faint smile for her half-sister as her magic carried her away.

The last traces of the whirlwind that spirited Morgause out of the tower had died down when Arthur burst into the room, his sword at the ready and the rest of the group hard on his heels. He was on high alert, scanning every inch of the room to seek out intruders and, even after he was satisfied that there was nobody present other than Uther and Morgana, he did not lower his sword.

“Are you hurt, Father? Where are the other sorcerers? Did you know them?” Arthur fired the questions at Uther too quickly for him to have a chance to respond to them.

“I’m fine, Arthur,” Uther reassured him, placing an arm around Morgana’s shoulders and hugging her gently. “Thanks to your sister’s courage. She drove away the sorceress.”

“Morgana drove away a sorceress?” Arthur asked skeptically. “This I’ve got to hear.”

“You will,” Uther promised. “But not now. It’s time for us to go home, and then the three of us will have a lot to talk about.”

As curious as he was to learn what had happened, Arthur could recognize that his questions would have to wait until they were safely back at Camelot. He asked no more questions, moving to Uther’s other side to help support him as their family made their way out of the Dark Tower.

* * *

Once they reached Camelot, Gaius had checked over each member of their party.

Guy’s leg required attention but, thankfully, the wound was not infected and, with rest and care, he would be as good as new within a couple of weeks. Olaf graciously accepted Uther’s offer of hospitality for as long as they had need of it, ostensibly for Guy’s sake but it was obvious that he was shaken by his experiences as a prisoner. His sons had found him in a dungeon deep in the bowels of the Dark Tower, shut away in total darkness. He insisted that he had been there for almost a week and they were loath to argue with him, especially given the legends about time moving differently inside the tower. The prospect of a couple of weeks of rest while Guy recovered from his wound was a welcome one. Several members of the rescue party sported cuts and bruises but nobody had suffered any more serious injuries during the fight with Alvarr and his men.

Uther was reluctant to speak of his experiences with the mandrake root but he gratefully accepted potent draughts from Gaius to allow him a dreamless sleep, knowing that it would be a long time before he would cease to be haunted by the images he had seen, if he was ever free of them.

Morgana accepted Gaius’ prescription for a hot bath, a good meal and a couple of days of rest and quiet in her chambers without a murmur of protest, weary from the journey and eager to have some time to herself. Guinevere fussed over her at first, anxious to see to it that she had everything she needed but Morgana was eventually able to persuade her that she would be fine by herself, urging her to enjoy some time to herself while she rested. She tried not to feel afraid when she heard the sound of heavy footsteps in the corridors outside her chambers, telling herself that Uther would not kill her but she couldn’t help but worry that guards might come to arrest her.

She had expected to receive a summons to Uther shortly after her return, knowing that, at the very least, he would have questions that he would expect her to answer. Instead, he came to her chambers, knocking on her door and waiting for her to open it before he entered.

“I’m sorry to disturb your rest, my child,” he began gently, sitting down on the chaise before the fire and motioning for her to join him. “But it’s past time that I thanked you in person for what you did in the Dark Tower. It was one of the bravest things I ever saw, especially as I know that Morgause wasn’t the only one that you had reason to fear. You should know that I have spoken to Gaius about your magic; he gave up sorcery a long time ago but I doubt that he has forgotten what he has learned and he will be able to teach you.”

Morgana was careful not to give him any hint that Gaius already knew of her magic, not wanting to cause trouble for him for knowing and keeping it from Uther. She could scarcely believe what she was hearing. She had hoped that he would be prepared to accept the fact that she had magic rather than seeking to execute her for it but never dreamed that he would be willing to see her study magic. There was so much she wanted to learn and it amazed her that Uther, of all people, should be the one to give her the opportunity to do so.

“But the laws…” She bit her lip, inwardly chiding herself for reminding him of his laws against magic when he was being so encouraging.

“Will have to be changed, sooner or later,” Uther finished for her. “It is not something that can be done in haste, not when there are so many things to consider, but I promise you that changes will be made. There can be no denying that magic is a dangerous force, one that is too often used to cause harm and destruction but there can also be no denying that there is at least one person who is able to resist the lure of dark magic.” He touched her cheek with a gentle hand. “I cannot begin to imagine the courage it took for you to protect me when you feared that I would hate you for your magic. I have never been prouder to call you my daughter.”

“I’m not the only one with magic who wants to use it for good,” Morgana said, taking advantage of the opportunity to press the case of people like the Druids and others who did no harm.

Uther nodded, though he seemed only partly convinced. “Those who use magic to do harm must be stopped, as all other criminals must be stopped,” he told her. There could be no question of that. No leniency could be shown to those who threatened Camelot or its people, whether they used magic or a sword to do it. “But for the others, we can find another way. When you are recovered, I hope that you will help me with this.” For the first time since she was a little girl, Morgana wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug and Uther chuckled warmly, encircling her with his arms and kissing the top of her head. “May I take it that you are pleased, my dearest?” She nodded against his shoulder. “Good. I am glad.” He sat there for a few minutes with Morgana in his arms, knowing that he had made the right decision.

Any law that would demand his daughter’s death was a law that needed to be changed.

“If you feel well enough, I hope that you and Arthur will dine with me this evening, just the three of us. We have a lot to talk about.”

“Will you tell him about my magic?”

“No,” Uther responded without hesitation. “You will. Don’t worry. Arthur loves you and would never let any harm come to you, no matter what. He would be the first to stop me if I ever tried to touch a hair on your head. You can trust him.”

“I know that I can,” Morgana told him with a slight smile. “He’s my brother.”

“He is,” Uther agreed.

Arthur might not share blood with them but, in every way that counted, he was his son and her brother. He was not to be King but he would always have his place in Camelot.

Tonight, they would dine alone for the first time since the Sword of King Bruta rocked their world and, together, they would embark on a new beginning for their family and for Camelot.


	10. Epilogue

The tower of wooden blocks was even taller than she was. It wobbled precariously as she stretched to the tips of her toes to balance her very last block on the very top of the tower. She held her breath as she let go of the block and stepped back, beaming when her tower remained standing.

It was the biggest and bestest tower she had ever, ever built.

 

Uncle Arthur usually helped her with her blocks but this time, she did it all by herself. She used all her blocks too, and not even one of them fell down. If she had more blocks, she could have made it even bigger and even better! Grandpapa would buy her as many blocks as she wanted to if she asked him. She would leave her tower standing and, when she got her new blocks, she would add to it and make it the biggest tower ever built, twice as tall as any tower in Camelot and much prettier. When it was finished, the new doll Aunt Vivian sent her could live there. Even if Nurse tried to make Moira or Elen tidy her blocks away, she would tell them "no" and they would have to do as she said, or she would tell Grandpapa and he would be cross with them for disobeying her.

"Want to show Mama," Vivienne Pendragon, Princess of Camelot announced, gesturing towards her tower. She spoke with as much authority in her voice as her grandfather did when he held court.

"The Crown Princess cannot come to the nursery today, milady," Nurse reminded her. "You know that she is unwell. You may visit her for a few minutes this afternoon, if you promise to be a good girl and not to make too much noise. Your mother will need her rest."

Vivienne frowned discontentedly. Nurse was a liar. She knew that her Mama wasn't ill, even if Nurse wanted to pretend that she was. She asked and Mama promised that she was well and that there was no need to be scared. She just had to rest because of the new baby, who was going to be born very soon, and that was why she was only able to have a few visitors. Nurse didn't think that a little girl should know about how babies came so she made up stories about Mama being ill. Everybody in the castle was waiting for the baby to be born to see if it would be a boy or a girl but her Mama knew already and told her. It was a big secret, just for the family, so she was very careful not to let Nurse or Moira or Elen know. They had to wait, like everybody else.

It was silly and mean not to let her see her Mama whenever she wanted to just because of a baby.

"Nasty baby!" The baby wasn't even born yet and it was keeping her from her Mama. It would be even more trouble after it was born and came to share _her_ nursery and _her_ servants.

"Milady!" Nurse scolded crossly. "That is a wicked thing to say!"

"Not a lady," she returned Nurse's cross look with one of her own. "I'm a _p'incess_." It was a new word, one she had learned not long ago, but she knew that it meant that she was a very important person - too important to have her Nurse scold her. Her Mama was a princess too.

"That's no way for a princess _or_ a lady to speak," Nurse said firmly. “It’s very naughty.” She would probably have scolded her some more but the nursery door opened and, when she saw the visitor, she curtsied. “Good morning, Sire,” she said in her very politest voice.

“Grandpapa!” Vivienne didn’t have to curtsey. She ran to her Grandpapa, arms outstretched, and he picked her up, swinging her around in a circle before settling her in my arms.

“How’s my little Vivvie?” he asked, kissing her cheek and beaming when she kissed him back.

“Good.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” Uther bounced his granddaughter in his arms, relishing the sound of her delighted giggles. The palace was a different place with a child in the family. Not even when Arthur had been a sunny little boy, full of innocence and joy, had there been such happiness. He reached up to smooth a soft blonde curl back from her face, tickling her under the chin. When his gaze fell on the tower, he reacted with appropriate awe. “Did you build this all by yourself? I’ve never seen such a splendid tower!” He settled her in his arms, holding her so that they were face to face. “I was hoping that you would do me the honour of accompanying me on a visit to the stables. Would you like that?” Uther smiled at her enthusiastic nod, and then feigned forgetfulness. “Now there’s something else we need, isn’t there? I can’t quite put my finger on it…”

“Cawwot!” Vivvie wriggled until her grandfather set her on her feet and then, grasping his hand with her much smaller one, she tried to tow him out of the nursery, ignoring Nurse’s hissed admonition. The palace was very, very big and even though she had lived there for all of the three years of her life, she didn’t know her way around all of it yet. The kitchens, however, were one of the places that she could always find and she tugged her grandfather towards them. The servants in the kitchen stopped their work to bow and curtsey when they saw them but there was no time to stop and say ‘hello’ today. Letting go of her grandfather’s hand, she scampered towards the person she had come to see, tugging at her skirts and beaming up at her.

“Hello, poppet.” Audrey, chief cook of the royal household, might be the terror of the kitchen servants who worked under her but there was a smile on her broad face as she set aside her bowl and looked down at the toddler by her side. “Just in time to lick the spoon - if you will allow it, Sire,” she added hastily, noticing Uther’s presence for the first time. At his nod, she passed her mixing spoon, thickly coated in a sweet, creamy concoction that would be used to ice the cakes for the birthing feast, down to an ecstatic Vivvie, who wasted no time licking it clean.

“Want cawwots, please,” Vivvie requested, her treat not distracting her from her quest.

“For the horses?” Audrey asked knowingly, wiping her hands on her apron and summoning one of the kitchen maids with an imperious gesture. The carrots were placed in a little basket, which she handed down to Vivvie and, with a smile and a wink, she slipped a small handful of candied fruits and sugared nuts into the pocket of her gown. “And a little treat for you too, poppet.”

“T’ank you,” Vivvie said, remembering her manners. The basket was a little too heavy for her but she wanted to carry it to the stable all by herself so the horses would know that the carrots were from her. She wouldn’t let Grandpapa take it but she let him carry her while she carried the basket.

Audrey had given her lots of carrots, more than enough for every horse in the stable to have one.

“Have you a carrot to spare?” Grandpapa asked her, after she finished feeding a carrot to his horse, the biggest and handsomest horse in all of the stables. When she nodded, showing him the basket that still had one fat carrot left in it, he smiled. “There’s somebody you need to meet.”

Uncle Arthur walked into the stable then, leading a horse by its bridle. It was the littlest horse Vivvie had ever seen, so little that she knew exactly who it must be for.

“My horsie?” For an answer, Grandpapa picked her up and sat her on the saddle, which was just the right size for her. “T’ank you!” She reached out to pat the mane, which was black and shiny.

“You’re a big girl now, Vivvie,” Uncle Arthur told her, putting the reins in her hands and showing her how to hold them just right, not too tight and not too loose. “You’re going to be a big sister very soon. That’s a very important, very special job - trust me, I know. We thought you should have a special present.”

Vivvie frowned. Her new horse was very nice but she wasn’t sure that she liked the idea of being a big sister. She liked having her Mama and her Papa, Grandpapa, Uncle Arthur, Uncle Balan and all of her other aunts and uncles to herself. It wasn’t fair for a baby to come and think that it could take her family away and keep them all to itself. “Don’t want a baby bwuvver!” she announced, before remembering that she wasn’t supposed to tell anybody that the baby was a boy, not yet.

“Why not?” Uncle Arthur asked. “You like having a new aunt, don’t you?” Grandpapa frowned a little at that but he didn’t really look very cross. “Having a new brother will be like that, except that you’ll be able to play together when he’s big enough. Won’t that be fun?”

“Maybe,” Vivvie conceded reluctantly. It _was_ a little dull without any other children for her to play with. Mama and Papa knew how to play good games, and so did Grandpapa, Uncle Arthur, Aunt Gwen and especially Uncle Balan, but Nurse and Moira and Elen weren’t at all good at playing games. Maybe she could teach a baby to play good games and they could have fun together, as long as he didn’t try to take her blocks or her dolls or especially her horse without asking first. She would see what her baby brother was like before she decided if she was going to like him or not.

“And you’ll be able to learn to ride your pony and teach your brother when he’s big, like you,” Grandpapa told her. “He’ll need you to take care of him. Do you think you can do that, for me?”

Vivvie nodded solemnly. Grandpapa was always very nice and she thought that she would do anything that he asked her to do, even if it meant taking care of her baby brother.

“Good girl,” he praised her. Tyr, who was in charge of the royal stable, brought Grandpapa’s horse over, saddled and ready to ride. “Why don’t the three of us go for a ride together,” he suggested.

“I’d like that, Father,” Uncle Arthur told him.

“And me!” Next to her Mama and her Papa, Vivvie couldn’t think of anybody better to ride with. The treats Audrey gave her were still in her pocket. Even though they were meant to be a secret, so nobody got cross with Audrey for giving her candies, Vivvie took them out, offering the sticky treats to her grandfather and uncle. They each accepted a couple but told her that she should keep the rest for herself. They promised not to tell Audrey that she let them know their secret.

“She never gave _me_ any treats when I was a boy,” Uncle Arthur grumbled. “Morgana never had any trouble getting cakes and candies out of her.”

“Morgana never set a snake loose in the kitchens,” Grandpapa reminded him. “And she never felt the need to grease the outside of the pots either, or to dump half a pound of salt in the soup. You should consider yourself lucky that Audrey didn’t feed you porridge and boiled cabbage for every meal!” He turned to her and winked. “You make sure that your brother knows to stay on Audrey’s good side.”

Vivvie nodded solemnly, though she was giving the idea of getting her baby brother to play tricks on Audrey so that she could have the treats to herself the serious consideration it warranted.

As they rode out of the stables, the sun dazzled her eyes for a moment and, when her vision cleared, she beamed up at her grandfather and uncle. “I know a secwet,” she told them.

“What secret, sweetheart?” Grandpapa asked.

“The baby’s coming _now_.”

* * *

“He’s beautiful, my lady,” Guinevere, promoted from maidservant to lady-in-waiting following her marriage to Arthur, had been the only person other than the midwives to attend Morgana as she gave birth. Once Gaius was admitted to the room long enough to examine the baby and confirm that he was as healthy an infant as could be wished, she reclaimed the new Prince of Camelot and rocked him in her arms while the midwives helped clean Morgana up and dress her in a clean nightgown, ready to receive visitors.

The baby’s cradle was placed at the foot of Morgana’s bed, where it would remain for the next eight days until the naming ceremony, when the newest addition to the family would be presented to the court, and then brought to the nursery he was to share with Vivvie.

Despite the midwives’ clucking about how she needed to rest and gather her strength after childbirth, Morgana insisted on sitting up and holding her new son in her arms, examining every inch of him, from the dusting of hair on the top of his skull to his ten tiny, wrinkled toes.

It was a family joke that, despite sharing no blood with Arthur, Vivvie managed to look like she was his daughter. She had Balin’s blonde hair, Morgana’s green eyes and her fair complexion, and an inborn air of authority that everybody recognised as an inheritance from Uther. The new baby was very different; his skin was still wrinkled and reddened from birth but the wisps of hair on his tiny skull were jet black rather than blonde and, although the midwives swore that all babies were born with blue eyes and that they could change as he grew older, Morgana was certain that her son’s eyes, which were already the exact shade of his father’s, would stay blue.

Vivvie was a honeymoon baby but, even though her brother had kept his parents waiting just over three years longer before he joined the family, Morgana’s memories of her daughter’s birth were as fresh as if her children were born three days apart, rather than three years.

_Gaius had left her with a draught to relieve pain, something she was deeply thankful for and, after she drank it, she drifted off, the sound of her new daughter’s even breathing lulling her to sleep._

_The faint sound of her baby crying stirred her from her slumbers but, when she woke, the room was quiet. It took a few moments for her eyes to adjust to the dim light but, when she did, she could make out the outline of a figure at the foot of her bed, and she that she was cradling the baby in her arms, crooning softly as she rocked her back and forth. It was not Gwen or one of the midwives or anybody else who had any business being there._

_“Morgause.”_

_As soon as she spoke the name, the other woman turned to look at her, apprehension on her face. “I didn’t mean to wake you, sister, I just wanted to see my new niece.”_

_“Give me my daughter.” While it was true that Morgause had made no further attempts to strike against Camelot or Uther in over a year, Morgana was far from comfortable with the sight of her new-born child in her sister’s arms. She relaxed a little when Morgause obediently placed the baby in her arms and she could see for herself that she was safe and unharmed._

_“I would never hurt her,” Morgause vowed. “Or you. You’re my only family. I’ll leave if you want me to. I just wanted to see that you and she were well.” She touched the top of the baby’s head, stroking the silky strands of blonde hair with a gentle finger. “Does she have a name yet?”_

_Morgana and Balin had chosen a name, and let Uther, Arthur and Balan know what they would call their daughter but the name was not to be announced to the court until the ceremony._

_“Vivienne,” she said after a long pause. “We’re calling her Vivienne.”_

“Have you decided what you’re going to call him?” Guinevere asked, sitting down on the side of the bed and reaching out to tuck the soft blanket, woven of the best new wool, around the baby. “Or is it the Prince’s turn to choose a name?” She could remember that there were some murmurs of disapproval when it was announced that the infant princess was to be the namesake of her maternal grandmother, a woman who betrayed her husband and bore another man’s child. Morgana had not let that change her mind. If anything, it deepened her resolve.

“I have some ideas,” a cheerful voice piped up from the doorway. The midwives weren’t exactly pleased to see a man enter the room before they had had a chance to clear away all signs of the birth but Balin didn’t even notice their disapproving expressions, or the barely respectful suggestions that it might be better if he gave the Crown Princess a little more time to recover from the rigours of childbirth before he paid her a visit. He crossed the chamber to Morgana’s side, kissing her hand and then her cheek before he leaned over her shoulder to examine the baby.

“Absolutely not!” Morgana, having heard some of his suggestions, was not prepared to leave the naming of their new child in his hands.

“I think that my last idea was a fine one,” Balin insisted teasingly. “I’m Balin, my brother is Balan. Balon would be a fine name for our boy, don’t you think?”

“No.” Morgana shook her head, all too aware that the significance of their son’s name would be debated by the court as soon as it was announced to them eight days hence. As a little girl, she had had no intention of getting married or having children but thought that, if she _had_ to, her first son would be named in honour of her father. However, if she called her son Gorlois, it would be seen as a slight against Uther and she had no wish to hurt his feelings. At the same time, however, it didn’t feel right for her to call the baby Uther. Olaf was out of the question; not only did her father-in-law already have two grandsons who bore his name, her son was a Pendragon and a future King of Camelot, not a member of the royal house of Gwynedd. Balon was a less controversial choice than most but it was not a name she wanted to inflict on an innocent baby.

“If I may,” Guinevere cut in before an argument, however good-natured, could erupt, “I have a suggestion.”

“I think that’s an excellent idea,” Balin said approvingly, once she voiced her proposition.

“It is, thank you, Gwen,” Morgana agreed, passing her son into his father’s arms.

“What kind of magic do you think he will have?” Balin asked, staring down into the tiny, perfect face and marvelling at the thought that a day would come when this baby boy would rule over the greatest kingdom in Albion. It seemed like such a heavy burden for somebody so tiny to have to shoulder one day and he was determined to do everything in his power to help prepare him.

“He’s barely an hour old!” Morgana objected. “It will be a long time before he can use magic, if he has it at all.” As always, she was pleased by how readily Balin accepted the idea of magic. She told him before she agreed to marry him, seeing in him the best potential for a happy marriage out of all of the suitors who had vied for her hand. Her magic was not a secret she wanted to keep from her future husband and she was pleasantly surprised by his reaction. There was no fear or loathing, only awe, no small amount of curiousity, and glee that he now knew how she was able to lead them through the Impenetrable Forest to the Dark Tower. She reclaimed her son, letting him grasp her finger in his hand and reaching out with her Seer power to catch a glimpse of his future but there was nothing concrete. Her son’s future was for him to shape.

There was a knock on the door and Balin sprang up to open it, grinning when he saw the visitors, particularly the smallest of them, who had been allowed to stay up during her mother’s labour, with her grandfather and uncles doing their best to distract her. After nodding in greeting to Uther, Arthur and Balan, he bent down to swing Vivvie up in his arms, whirling her through the air before carrying her over to set her down on the bed next to Morgana.

“My bwuvver?” Vivvie asked, touching one of the tiny, wrinkled hands with a tentative finger. The doll Aunt Vivian sent her was much, much prettier but she supposed that he wasn’t _too_ bad.

“He is, my darling,” Morgana told her, putting one arm around her daughter. “He’s been waiting to meet you.”

“May I?” Uther asked, waiting for her answering nod before he reached down to pluck his grandson out of his daughter’s arms. The baby opened his wide blue eyes, looking up at his face for a moment before he dozed off, his fingers curling into fists. “What’s his name?”

“That’s not for us to say,” Balin told him, enjoying their surprised reactions. “Lady Guinevere had a wonderful idea. She thought that we should let his big sister decide what to call him.”

“Me?” Vivvie asked, proud to think that she had an important job to do already, after being a big sister for such a short time.

“Yes, you,” Morgana confirmed. Later, when the effects of the draught Gaius gave her to relieve the pain wore off and she felt a little more clear-headed, she wondered how she hadn’t had more misgivings about the idea of entrusting the choice of her new baby’s name to a toddler. “What would you like to call him? You can take some time to think about it if you like.”

Vivvie pondered the question carefully for several minutes, thinking of her favourite names and her favourite people and who she wanted her baby brother to grow up to be like.

“A’thur,” she said at last, pronouncing the name slowly and carefully. Her Uncle Arthur was a big brother, like she was a big sister now. He was brave and kind and funny and generous and, if she _had_ to have a baby brother, she wanted one who was like him.

The adults in the room exchanged wary looks, none of them wanting to be the first to break the silence and voice his or her opinion of Vivvie’s choice, a choice none of them had anticipated.

“I like it,” Morgana said, reaching out a hand to Arthur and smiling when he came closer to the bed and took her hand in his. “With your permission?” She liked the idea of naming her son after the man who had been a brother to her long before they knew of their true origins, but it was not something she was willing to do unless Arthur was comfortable with it.

“I like it too,” Arthur agreed.

“And I,” Uther seconded him, others following his example until every member of the family had voiced their approval and the matter was settled.

Eight days later, the nobles and commoners who crowded the Great Hall, eager to catch a glimpse of the newest addition to the royal family were formally presented with their future King:

Arthur Pendragon, Prince of Camelot.

* * *

 

 

**_Five Years Later_ **

The period of mourning after Uther's death lasted a full month.

He was not the only one to fall in the great battle against the Saxons and, in the month that followed his death, the people of Camelot mourned their dead, rebuilt damaged buildings, sowed crops to replace those the invaders had burned and prepared to start anew. The coronation of their new Queen marked the beginning of a new era, and no clearer evidence of this could be seen than the presence of representatives from the Druids and the Catha, along with the last High Priestess of the Triple Goddess, all of whom were honoured and welcome guests.

When the Saxons invaded Camelot, determined to use it as the base from which they would expand until they had conquered all of Albion, they little realised the mistake they were making.

Camelot did not stand alone.

Each of the rulers of the Five Kingdoms sent men and arms to aid in Camelot's defence, knowing that if one kingdom fell, the others would soon follow. Gaheris of Gwynedd, Princess Mithian of Nemeth's husband of four years, led his father-in-law's army into battle, fighting alongside his brothers, all of whom were leading men, with the three eldest brothers coordinating their efforts as generals of their father's army. Lords Bayard of Mercia and Godwyn of Gawant led their own men, as did King Caerleon, each of them determined to play his part in defending the land from its would-be conquerors. It came as something of a surprise that Uther took to the field himself instead of leaving it to Arthur and Balin to lead Camelot's forces, and even more of a surprise that Morgana insisted on joining them and was allowed to have her own way instead of being left in the citadel, where Guinevere and a company of knights guarded the royal children.

Merlin was one of the few who knew of the role Morgana had played in anticipating the strategies the Saxons would use at Camlann, which had allowed Camelot and its allies to adapt their defences to minimise their losses but, if she had foreseen that aid would come from an unexpected quarter, she had not said a word about it, to the best of his knowledge. For his part, he was a hairsbreadth away from using his magic to strike down the Saxon horde, wishing that he had thought to bring a disguise that would allow him to use magic without being recognised, when fire began to rain down from the sky, incinerating the Saxons while leaving Albion's soldiers unharmed.

Morgause, the last surviving High Priestesses of the Triple Goddess, rained down a fiery vengeance on those who sought to threaten the kingdom her sister was heir to, and she was not the only unexpected ally to lend assistance that day. The Druids were a peaceful people and would never have used their magic to take the life of enemy soldiers but they assisted Gaius in healing the wounded and also used their magic to bolster the shields the Catha raised. Between them, they managed to offer protection to hundreds of Albion’s soldiers as well as to the base camp.

Never before had so many of the peoples of Albion been united in a single goal. Even those who feared magic could not fail to be grateful for the aid it rendered in the terrible battle.

Uther fell in battle, throwing himself between Arthur and a fatal blow intended for him. He lingered long enough to be brought to the healing tents, where Gaius and the most skilled of the Druid healers examined his wounds and regretfully reported that there was nothing they could do for him, save to ease the pain of his passing. Merlin was present, hovering in the background, as Uther said his final farewell to Arthur and Morgana, asking them to pass on a kiss from him to Vivvie and young Arthur and charging them to defend Camelot to the last man.

Stories of their victory would echo through the ages.

Morgana's coronation was not just a celebration of Camelot's new Queen.

It was a celebration of the peace they had fought for and won, of the closer ties forged with other kingdoms in the heat of battle, and of the change in the law that allowed those with magic to emerge from hiding and claim their rights as citizens of Camelot. Morgana’s public announcement that she had magic had shocked the kingdom, rocking the beliefs of those who, though they saw magic as evil, could not deny that their new Queen was a kind soul who served Camelot well.

"Morgana tells me that she plans to invite the Druid Aglain to stay in Camelot," Gaius observed, as he and Merlin snatched a few minutes to themselves in the chaos of preparing for the coronation to ready themselves for the event. “She also asked Alator of the Catha but he must return to his people, and is to send one of his apprentices in his stead. I believe that she also intends to invite Morgause.” The last choice would have been particularly unthinkable as lately as a month ago, given Morgause’s past actions against Camelot but, after her aid at Camlann, people were much more inclined to accept her presence at court. As the last High Priestess of the Triple Goddess, Morgana would need to include her if she was not to cause offence to many of those who adhered to the Old Religion and would take it amiss if she was ignored. “They will each take a seat on her Council so that they may advise her on matters relating to magic.”

“That’s a good idea,” Merlin said quietly, focusing on brushing a non-existent wrinkle from his crimson woolen tunic so that he did not have to meet Gaius’ worried gaze. His wardrobe had expanded considerably following Arthur’s marriage to Guinevere, as she insisted on providing him with new clothes, warmer and of better quality than any he had worn before. Thankfully, she did not demand that he wear the de Bois livery - not that Agravaine de Bois would want her to, given that he had not yet forgiven Arthur for forcing him to recognize a servant girl as Lady de Bois - and, as Arthur’s servant, he was spared the hated official livery of the servants of the royal household. Even after over five years of marriage to Arthur, he knew that she was not fully at ease with her role as his mistress when they were once servants together. For his part, there was no lady at court he would rather serve.

“It’s not too late to tell her about your magic, my boy,” Gaius said gently, as protective of Merlin as ever, despite the fact that a dozen years separated him from the youth he was when he first arrived in Camelot. “She will understand why you could never tell her. I can explain it to -”

“No,” Merlin cut him off.

During the past month, Gaius had made multiple attempts to convince him that there would never be a better time for him to reveal his magic to Morgana but he still hesitated. A lifetime of being on his guard, warned never to let anybody know about his magic, had kept him from using magic at Camlann, for fear that Uther’s more lenient attitude towards magic since he learned that his daughter possessed it would not keep him from banishing him if he saw him use it. Even if his life was spared, the idea of having to leave Arthur was unbearable. The idea that Arthur would take the news badly, angry and hurt that Merlin had never confided in him, despite the long years they spent together and the friendship they had forged, was even more painful.

“Morgana knows what it was like for people with magic while Uther was King,” Gaius reminded him. Even when sentences of death ceased to be handed down to those accused of using magic, except when they were convicted of using their magic against Camelot or to harm another, most saw the wisdom in keeping their magic a secret if they could, in case Uther’s more lenient policies did not last. “She will understand why you could never tell her before.”

“Even when she told me about her magic?” Merlin challenged him. “I could have told her after that but I didn’t.”

“Because I told you that your magic must remain a secret,” Gaius reminded him. “I have known Morgana since she was a little girl; if you tell her the truth, she won’t hold the secret against you. She will understand that it was more difficult for you than it was for her; Uther would never have harmed her or sent her away but you did not enjoy the same protection.”

Merlin hoped that this was true but, even so, he was not going to tell her, not yet.

“I will tell Arthur first. I owe him that much.”

Had things been different, today would be the day of Arthur and Guinevere’s coronation. Merlin imagined that before Arthur was crowned King, he would have confided in him about his magic, finally telling him about all of the times that he had used it in his service, and vowing that he would continue to use it to help Arthur, however he could. He would have been able to tell him of the Great Dragon and his prophecy so that Arthur could know that he was destined for greatness and that Merlin would be by his side the whole way, protecting and guiding him.

Arthur was not to be King but he should still be the first to hear the truth.

He didn’t say so to Gaius but he also wanted to wait a little longer, until after Morgana’s coronation and establishment of her Council, before she found out about him. He didn’t doubt that, now that it was known that she was not only a friend to magic but that she would welcome its help, there would be sorcerers flocking to her, eager to see what rewards they could reap in exchange for promises of amazing feats of magic. He had no desire to be numbered among them, for her or anybody else, least of all Arthur, to think that he was lobbying for a seat on the Council or for some other position of honour at court.

He used to imagine that, once Arthur was King, he would no longer be his servant but would instead sit by his side in Council, as his closest advisor and right-hand man, the equal of any knight or noble. From time to time, he even considered the question of which title he would like to be known by, even though he knew in his heart that Arthur was unlikely to name a ‘court sorcerer’.

Even if Morgana wanted to invite him to join her Council once she knew of his magic, he didn’t know whether or not he would accept her offer. If he was a member of the new Queen’s Council, he would no longer be able to serve Arthur and the idea of leaving him to ride out alone on his missions was unthinkable. Camelot might be at peace but he had learned never to underestimate Arthur’s talent for finding trouble. He wasn’t about to leave him to his own devices without being on hand to protect him when he needed it, especially if he no longer had to keep it a secret. It might do Arthur good to see for himself just how often he stood in need of rescuing.

He would only tell Morgana about his magic after Arthur knew… and after he figured out how best to broach the subject of the dragon who was still held captive below the castle, a dragon he had long ago promised to free and who was not especially pleased to be kept waiting.

“Don’t wait too long,” Gaius advised him, not liking to think that his nephew would stay quiet about his magic so long that he missed his best window of opportunity to tell Arthur the truth. He didn’t want Merlin to end up in a position where he was the only sorcerer in Albion who could not be open about his magic. He deserved so much better than that.

“I won’t,” Merlin promised.

After helping Gaius into his best tunic, the one reserved for ceremonial occasions, Merlin excused himself, hurrying down to the Great Hall to find himself a good spot. The common people were welcome to attend the ceremony and, while space at each of the far sides of the Great Hall was to be reserved for servants, it would not be long before it was too crowded for him to squeeze in.

He weaved his way through the crowds of people, marveling at how different the palace was today, now that the veil of mourning that had shrouded it since Uther’s death was lifted and colour returned to the court. The nobility were dressed in their finest clothes and jewels, while the knights were resplendent in scarlet tunics and cloaks, their chain mail gleaming like silver. Even the commoners were dressed in their best, which was why the shabby, wild-looking man in their midst stood out so much, with his worn garments engrained with years of dirt and his grey hair unkempt.

“You there,” the wild man seized Merlin’s arm as he passed, dragging him to a halt. “I need to speak with the Queen.”

“I’m sorry but the Queen is not receiving petitioners today,” Merlin told him, inwardly wondering why the man had chosen this day of all days to look to speak to Morgana. Since Uther’s death, she had held daily audiences for any of her subjects who wished to speak to her, encouraging them to come to her with details of what they needed to rebuild after the Saxon invasion. However, for her coronation day, no audiences were scheduled. “If you wish, I can see to it that your name is put forward for an audience tomorrow.”

“This matter has waited long enough,” the man told him grimly. “Longer than the Queen has lived. My kin has been held prisoner for over thirty years and I mean to see him freed before the day is over. The Queen claims to be a friend to magic. It’s time for her to prove it.”

Merlin could think of only one creature of magic who had been held prisoner for so long but he didn’t dare to ask, not when there were so many curious onlookers within earshot. Instead, he promised to see what he could do to arrange for the man to be able to see Morgana after the ceremony. He was certain that, once she knew that magic was involved, she would find time to hear the man’s story. “What name can I give?” he asked, hoping that he would be able to keep his word and find a moment to speak to Morgana privately.

“Balinor,” the man told him. “My name is Balinor.”

* * *

A hush fell over the Great Hall as the doors opened and Morgana began to make her way down the carpeted path to the dais, on which a gold throne, cushioned in crimson velvet, was waiting, along with Geoffrey of Monmouth, who held the crown in his hands.

Tomorrow, Balin was to be formally crowned as her consort and would take his place on a throne by her side but he and her Council were in agreement that she must be crowned Queen alone. For today, he stood in the very front row, with little Arthur and Vivvie next to him, a proud, encouraging smile on his face as he watched her.

The entire front row was filled with members of their family. King Olaf was not in attendance but all of his sons were present, with those who were married accompanied by their wives and any children who were old enough to be trusted to behave themselves during the ceremony. History had repeated itself, in a sense; Olaf had fathered six sons and only one daughter, and Vivvie was his only granddaughter so far, with his grandsons numbering eleven following the recent birth of Gaheris and Mithian’s third son. Even Lady Vivian was present, eagerly claiming the spot next to Vivvie. Thankfully, her once passionate infatuation with Arthur had not outlasted his marriage to Guinevere - Olaf claimed that Arthur’s imprudence was all the proof his beloved daughter had needed to finally see that he was not the man for her - or her jealousy might have been an unpleasant scene, as Arthur and Guinevere were standing just beyond her.

Morgana was glad to see that Guinevere did as she asked and saw to it that Gaius and Merlin were standing with her and Arthur rather than with the palace servants. They were her friends and they shouldn’t be relegated to the sidelines today, regardless of their status.

Once she reached the dais, she knelt before the throne and Geoffrey took a step forward to lead her in her coronation oath, her vow to the people that she must now rule.

“Will you solemnly promise and swear to govern the peoples of Camelot according to their respective laws and customs?”

“I solemnly swear so to do.”

“Will you to your power cause law and justice, in mercy, be executed in all your judgments?”

“I will.”

“Then by the sacred law vested in me, I crown you Morgana, Queen of Camelot.”

Once Geoffrey gently placed the jeweled crown, crafted for Arthur’s mother so many years ago, on her head, Morgana rose to her feet and turned to face the court.

“Long live the Queen!”

Arthur was the first to acclaim her and a swell of voices echoed his cry.

“Long live the Queen!”

“Long live the Queen!”

“Long live the Queen!”

“Long live the Queen!”

“Long live the Queen!”

A new era for Camelot had dawned.

 

THE END

 


End file.
